


Survivors

by kanuck



Category: The Facts of Life
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Happy Ending, Healing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lesbian Sex, Modern Era, New York City, Pining, Police, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4905763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanuck/pseuds/kanuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would Blair, of all people, want to be on Survivor? What would happen if she were? Jo/Blair present day/age femslash, but it delves back to the end of the original series as well. First book posted in full elsewhere, fit for a teen audience. Slowly making its way here with the naughty parts fleshed in, so to speak.</p><p>Intentionally not billed as a crossover. Love (or even appreciation) for the Survivor TV series not required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sony owns the Facts of Life characters, not I. I'm borrowing them for the moment, but will not profit from the exercise.
> 
> Archiving: Only with the author's permission.
> 
> Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so please be gentle. That said, I do welcome any and all input, especially regarding canon and character.
> 
> I've tried to stay true to the original series up to the tail end of season 9, just before the producers married Jo off (WTF?!).
> 
> The story was inspired in part by Lisa Whelchel describing her experience on Survivor in an interview and saying (quite accurately, I think) that it was something Blair Warner would never do. I wanted to explore under what circumstances she might.
> 
> Some chapters mention songs by name. If you don't know them, I invite you to look them up. They've been selected because I think they add to the scenes.
> 
> And, finally, this has been posted elsewhere (with the first book completed) under a T rating. I'm bringing it here with the intent to lift the curtain from the steamy bits. This is another first, so how it goes will be a surprise to all of us.

"Oh my God, Jo! Did you see it?"

Jo winced, holding the iPhone away from her head and leaning back in the driver's seat of the parked, unmarked squad car. Tootie could be loud when passionate. Glancing at the Tweet from @BlairWarner, she feigned ignorance. "What's up, Tootie?"

"Blair's trying out for Survivor! That's Blair 'It's-my-duty-to-always-look-my-best', 'You-change-the-channel-because-I-might-break-a-nail' Warner! Has she gone mad? Is she dying?"

Tootie always had a flair for drama. Although, Jo had to admit that the idea of struggling to survive on a remote island was quite a stretch for the debutante she remembered. Merely the thought of camping had tended to give her a rash. "I doubt she's dyin', Tootie. Maybe she just needs a break or somethin'."

"A break? Do you hear yourself? Blair takes a break with a marathon shopping spree at Bloomingdale's, or by checking into the spa at the Plaza for the weekend. She does NOT sign up to play Robinson Crusoe on Reality TV! You need to do something!"

"I'm sure she'll back out when they tell her there's a luggage limit," Jo chuckled, remembering the multiple occasions that had found her playing Happy Porter hauling a dozen suitcases at the blonde's request. "Seriously, it'll never happen. Don't sweat it."

"I don't know... it seems really crazy. What if she's in trouble? You were always the one who could get through to her."

"She's fine... and even if she's goin' through some kinda mid-life crisis, it ain't any of my business. You know I haven't talked to her in, like, forever." 26 years to be exact, thought Jo bitterly.

"Speaking of which, are you ever going to tell me what that's about?"

"No."

"Come on Jo, you can't both keep holding out on us. When are you going to 'fess up?"

"Er... the 35th of Octebruaruy," she said, patience diminishing.

"So... never," Tootie frowned at the sarcasm.

"You're catchin' on, kid! Listen, we've got a call comin' in. I've gotta roll"

Grabbing the radio, Jo responded to the call while watching Marty, the burly young man ordering a hotdog from the street vendor, abandon his conversation and sprint back to the car.

"No rest for the weary, eh?" he said, sliding into the passenger seat. He was a good cop, Jo thought as they peeled out of the parking lot, lights flashing. He was still wet behind the ears, but he was earnest and respected her authority. She felt no small sense of satisfaction at the opportunity to mold him into someone she could work with.

"Sure looks that way," she replied. She didn't much care for Domestics, especially since moving into Homicide, and wasn't looking forward to this.

=-=-=-=-=

Arriving back at the station after dark, Jo's tension showed in her demeanour and stride. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, tossing the keys to the car on the front desk as she passed, not bothering to glance at the woman behind it. The Desk Officer opened her mouth to crack wise, but stopped short seeing Marty adamantly shake his head "no."

"Bad one?" she asked the rookie with concern.

"Kid," he nodded grimly, signing the keys in.

=-=-=-=-=

Jo hated the feeling of being wound so tight. Every muscle in her body ached with tension, and her mind kept racing back to the darkest moments of the day. The quandary was clear: It was her desire -no, her need- to right the world's wrongs that made her love her job, what made her good at it, and yet it was facing wrongs beyond her control that tore her apart at the end of the day. What was she supposed to do on nights like tonight, when her body and mind were poised to spring into action, but there was no viable action to take? How did one dispense of this maddeningly fierce energy when there was no bad guy to take down, no way of making things right?

She slammed the door shut behind her as she entered the large studio apartment over her uncle's auto shop. Her blazer was the first thing to come off, tossed on a hook by the door without breaking stride, and then her shoes were kicked to the mat beneath it. She continued in stockinged feet along the unfinished hardwood floor toward the bed in the far corner of the loft. The lights of the city visible through broad, uncovered windows illuminated bare brick walls. Unbuckling her belt, she stepped out of her stockings and slacks, tossing them carelessly into the bedside hamper, followed in short order by her top.

Pulling her hair into a loose pony-tail, she made her way along the wall to her workout corner wearing black boxer briefs and a black sports bra. With an exasperated sigh, dragging her fingers through her bangs, she selected a playlist on her phone before placing it in its cradle. As the opening bass of "Monster" by Skillet pounded through the wall-mounted speakers, she cranked it up loud... and then beyond loud. Noise complaints aren't an issue when the downstairs tenants are cars. Pulling on a pair of black boxing gloves, she began by tapping out a steady rhythm on the speed bag hanging at head height.

As she felt her shoulders loosen and her muscles heat up, she doubled her pace, moving smoothly around the bag, attacking it from all sides. In time, the woman was glistening with sweat, increasing her tempo until she was beating the bag back on every rebound. Her steely gaze fixed on her target and fists a blur of motion, six-pack abs flexed as she forced out timed breaths and her bare feet beat a rhythm of their own on the hardwood. Finally, with a strong right-hook she sent the bag spinning before releasing a primal cry and exploding into a roundhouse kick aimed perfectly behind her.

She was still in the air when her right foot made clean contact with the worn and duct-taped heavy bag. Still keeping time with thumping music, her new target was the recipient of a brutal, full-body attack. Fists and legs hit hard and fast, with grunts and guttural cries occasionally punctuating the blows. Her breath came heavily now, her fists vibrating with adrenaline between hits. Several songs passed before, hair and clothes drenched, she drew a forearm across her brow to the closing beats of Papa Roach's "Wanna Be Loved". Ripping off the gloves, she tossed them on the shelf in the corner before turning off the music. Releasing the pony-tail with a sigh, she made it halfway to the bathroom before suddenly spinning in her tracks and launching into another furious onslaught on the heavy bag.

Bare-fisted now, with no audible beat to follow, this attack was unconstrained. Gone were the practised perfection of timing and focus, replaced with rapid-fire, powerful hits. Ultimately, physically spent with wild hair and bruised knuckles, her final blow swung wide leaving an exhausted Jo hugging the bag for support and gasping for breath. She gathered herself warily, embarrassed even without an audience at her lapse in control, and made her way again toward the shower.

Rolling her shoulders under the steamy, high pressure spray, she felt the knotted tension with distaste. She knew she would sleep... her body was certainly tired enough... but as the sights of the day flashed again through her mind she couldn't possibly relax. "Fuck!" she growled into the empty room, as though her memories could be chased away with words.

Roughly towelling her hair, she made her way to the low, queen-sized bed. As she crawled between crisp white sheets, she hoped inanely for pleasant dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

_Roughly towelling her hair, she made her way to the low, queen-sized bed. As she crawled between crisp white sheets, she hoped inanely for pleasant dreams._

=-=-=-=-=

Startled awake by her ringing phone, Jo reached groggily for the offending device, one eye opening to check the call display before closing again.

"Nat! What time is it?"

"It's 7am... were you sleeping?"

"Shit yeah... I didn't hit the hay 'til after 3. How do you always manage to wake me?"

"I don't know. It's weird, isn't it," Natalie's voice dripped sarcasm. "Hey, maybe it's because you never turn your phone off when you sleep!"

Jo grunted acknowledgement. "What can I do for ya?"

"You could call Blair."

"Ain't gonna happen. Anything else?"

"Help me out here... Tootie called her, said she seems really weird. She won't get off my case about it."

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree here, Nat. You should know that by now."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. What can I say? I'll never get used to you guys not being friends."

"Well, get used to it. Goodnight."

"Good morning."

With a yawn, Jo pulled a pillow over her face to block the morning light. She hated mornings, and trying to get back to sleep brought only images of a vain but beautiful blonde. Groaning in protest, she realized her thoughts were headed back to the events of a lifetime ago.

=-=-=-=-=

Predictably, it had started with an argument. From the day they'd first met it seemed that every notable event for Jo and Blair had started with an argument.

Jo had been uncomfortable when Blair started dating Richard Winthrop IV based on her Daddy's recommendation. The guy was old -36 to Blair's 23- and more shallow than the debutante herself had ever been, and that was saying a lot. It was only Blair's clear disinterest that kept Jo from pulling an intervention. Although the heiress was giving the guy her time and her smiles, her eyes remained clouded and distant in his presence. Obviously Blair knew this wasn't going anywhere, although why she was still stringing the chump along three months later Jo couldn't fathom.

In hindsight, she probably should have foreseen the proposal, but it was Blair's acceptance that shocked Jo to the core.

"You said 'yes'?"

"Yes."

"Whaddaya mean 'Yes'?"

"What part of 'yes' are you having trouble with, Jo?"

"The part where you said 'yes' to a guy you don't love!"

"Who says I don't love him?"

The words had their desired effect. With Jo struck dumb and her mouth gaping, Blair walked away, tossing her hair dismissively on her way out the door.

After that exchange and the ensuing chill between them, Jo had declined the duties of Maid of Honour. In truth, she'd never really believed it would happen... not until the night before the wedding. With the media spectacle being held in the glamourous ballroom of New York's Plaza Hotel, Blair had booked suites for herself and the wedding party. That's how Jo found herself in the hotel's plush, carpeted hallway, motorcycle helmet in hand, watching Blair kiss her fiance goodnight.

She felt distinctly uncomfortable, like some kind of stalker watching the private moment, but she feared that if she turned back now she'd be in the elevator and out the door without saying what she came to say. Richard leaned in for another kiss, but was met with a firm hand to his chest maintaining distance, gentled by a familiar hair flip and coy laugh. As Blair closed the door between them, Jo saw Richard move as if to block it, then change his mind as he made his way down the hall.

 _"Now or never, Polniaczek,"_ she thought to herself, taking a deep breath and striding purposefully toward the closing door.

The door opened almost immediately after her knock.

"I told you 'No'! We're supposed to wait until after we're..." Blair's entire demeanour softened in recognition. "Hello Jo."

"Listen, Blair. We've gotta talk."

"Right..." she said, but didn't move.

After a pause, Jo raised an eyebrow. "Uh... Can I come in?"

Blair moved wordlessly to the side, eyes on Jo as she entered the Terrace Suite, then closing the door behind her.

"Nice digs!" Jo said, nervously stuffing her hands into her jeans' pockets as she took in the opulent accommodations and dazzling view of the city lights.

Blair couldn't remember feeling this uncomfortable around Jo before... irritated, exasperated, enraged even, but this feeling of strain that left her searching for words was new. "Coffee?" she asked, falling back on proper etiquette.

"Uh, yeah," Jo replied, then, "please," as an afterthought.

Sitting in awkward silence in the luxurious seating area with a 20th story view down 58th Street, Jo chose to look at Blair instead. Dressed in black slacks and the black sweater -Dior, Jo remembered- with metallic gold accents highlighting blonde hair and gold and black onyx earrings, she guessed the couple had been out for the evening. _"She looks amazing,"_ Jo thought to herself, _"even with that sadness in her eyes."_ Dropping her gaze into the coffee mug in her hand at the realization that she was staring, Jo cleared her throat. "So, explain it to me."

"You wouldn't understand."

While it wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for, Jo was encouraged by the honesty. At least Blair had moved beyond denial. Looking up into gold-flecked brown eyes, Jo tried again.

"C'mon... Try me," a pause, then with emotion, " I need to understand, Blair."

Seeing the hurt in the emerald eyes, Blair sighed, shaking her head slowly. Against her better judgement, she began to explain.

"My world is not like yours, Jo. It never was and it never can be. I've been fortunate to grow up with certain privileges, I know, but the price is in the obligations... my obligations."

Jo could see where this was going and tried to interrupt, but Blair stayed her argument with a raised palm.

"I've been very lucky compared to my peers to have had the freedom to explore different ideas over the past decade, but that experience could never change my future. I'm an adult now, David Warner's only eligible heir, and it's my duty to follow the path before me."

"So this marriage..." Jo said the word with distaste, "You're saying it's arranged?"

"Yes. The Warners and the Winthrops are two of North America's most prominent families. This marriage... my marriage will bring lucrative exchanges and powerful mergers. You must understand, it's been my destiny all along. Daddy was just nice enough to give me a carefree adolescence. He says he recognized my free spirit and allowed me as much time as he could to play," her reminiscing smile seemed genuine. "But that time has come to an end. I accept that. You need to, too."

Jo could feel the heat rising to her ears. She forced a slow breath, but it did little to tame her ire. Who the hell did David Warner think he was to take ownership of his daughter's future?

"Accept it? Are ya kiddin' me? You're your own woman, Blair, not just some pretty pawn in Daddy Warner's chess game!"

Blair blushed despite herself at hearing the Bronx native describe her as pretty.

"This is 1988 for cryin' out loud," Jo continued. "You're allowed to vote, buy a house, and -yes- choose a freakin' husband, too! Did ya sleep through Womens Studies?"

"Jo," Blair reached across the coffee table to take the brunette's hand in her own. Jo looked down at the touch, secretly marvelling at it's softness and the shiver it sent through her. She raised her eyes again as the blonde went on. "Jo, this is my choice. I'm choosing to live up to my obligations. Please try..."

"No!" Jo pulled her hand out of the warm grasp, standing up to pace the carpeted floor, arms moving emphatically. "This is crazy! You're giving up your life!"

"I told you you wouldn't understand! Daddy said you..."

"I don't give a rat's ass what 'Daddy' says! He's an over-bearin', self-involved dictator! Can't ya see? To him you're nothin' more than..." Jo paused, scrambling for an accurate description, "... a trophy to sweeten his latest business deal!"

Suddenly the debutante was on her feet as well, stopping the wild tirade by moving forcefully into Jo's personal space. "You take that back!"

Jo could feel the heat emanating from the enraged beauty, could smell the erotic scent of Chanel and Blair. She clenched her jaw and moved closer, nose to nose. Glaring into the fiery eyes she seethed, "I. Will. Not."

Raising a hand to chest height without shifting her gaze, the blonde grabbed a handful of Jo's white T-shirt in her fist, effectively holding the woman in place. She exhaled slowly, their breath intermingling, as fury and something else danced behind her eyes. Unsure of what to expect, Jo braced for a blow.

After what felt like an eternity, Blair seemed to make up her mind. Releasing the shirt while forcefully pushing away, she uttered two words laced with venom before turning her back. "Turn. Blue."

Jo's streetwise reflexes were too quick to allow Blair's escape. She managed to grab the retreating wrist, spinning the infuriating heiress back, harder than intended as they bumped together, face to face again. Not allowing time for a response, she tilted her head forward, covering the angry woman's lips with her own.


	3. Chapter 3

_Jo's streetwise reflexes were too quick to allow Blair's escape. She managed to grab the retreating wrist, spinning the infuriating heiress back, harder than intended as they bumped together, face to face again. Not allowing time for a response, she tilted her head forward, covering the angry woman's lips with her own._

=-=-=-=-=

She was unprepared for the responding moan and the hand that found its way to the back of her neck, entangling in brown locks while pulling her closer, increasing the contact between them. When Blair's tongue teased at her lips, she welcomed her with a husky groan of her own. The connection made her head swim, her eyes closing as the kiss deepened. She released the wrist still in her grasp in favour of wrapping both arms around the curvaceous form pressing against her, revelling in the sensation. As eight years of wishing culminated, her body's instinctive and immediate response was barely enough to convince Jo that this was actually happening.

All of her guilty fantasies and secret daydreams could not have prepared her for this moment. The gentle tug on her hair, the fingernails at the nape of her neck, the warm, sweet softness at her lips and the sound, the scent, the taste of Blair were intoxicating. Her heart raced as she released the incredible lips to nuzzle an ear, her nose swimming in silky, fragrant hair. When the blonde stretched her beautiful neck with a sigh, providing easy access to pale, tender skin, Jo followed a scent downward, nibbling and tasting, then lingering at the feel of a pulse.

Her knees weakening as her urgency and need grew, Jo tried to move them toward the couch. At Blair's sudden and firm, "No," she stumbled backward, initially crushed, only to feel renewed passion at the clarification, "not here." With a shy smile, the blushing blonde reached for her hand, pulling her up the stairs behind her to the loft bedroom sharing the star-studded view.

Having shared a bedroom since they were teenagers, it wasn't as though Jo had never seen Blair naked before. She'd tried to look elsewhere... stopping to suddenly watch the guy across the street mow his lawn, or to stare with interest into her own sock drawer... but between her own curiosity and Blair's complete lack of modesty, catching a glimpse here and there had been unavoidable. She was only human, after all, and Blair had been filling out sweaters perfectly for years. Who could resist? 

Watching Blair reveal herself, however... removing her clothes seductively while looking at Jo like that... proved to be inexplicably breathtaking. When Blair's bra fell to join the discarded pile, Jo bit her lip in her struggle to maintain eye contact. With a smile of amused understanding, Blair's eyes released hers, glancing down momentarily in a clear invitation to look, to appreciate.

Jo did, of course, appreciate. In fact, it wasn't until Blair reached for her, both arms welcoming as a tiny teasing smirk played on those gorgeous lips, that Jo remembered this show was meant to be interactive. Swallowing away the lump in her throat, Jo accepted the invitation, mumbling an awestruck “God, Blair,” as she moved toward her. 

Once in range, Blair took Jo's face in both hands and kissed her, hard. If Jo had thought she'd known passion downstairs, it had now reached a whole new level. No longer able to resist the temptation, her hands went hesitantly to Blair's breasts. While she'd certainly expected the softness that filled her hands, the sensation of nipples hardening into her palms was something she could never have imagined. Causing this physical response in Blair sent a shock to her loins and made her gasp, pulling out of their kiss in time to watch Blair's eyes darken and close, her breath hitching as well. 

Finding courage in Blair's responsiveness, Jo's hesitancy vanished. Using her height to her advantage, she moved against the blonde again, kissing ceaselessly as they moved toward the bed. When Blair tripped, falling backward, Jo caught her around the waist and eased her down with a cocky grin. Impressed, Blair giggled only momentarily, moaning instead as she felt Jo's weight upon her and caught the intensity of her gaze. Again they locked eyes, their breath becoming ragged until Blair brought her hand to Jo's face, stroking her cheek as she whispered her name. In that moment, Jo was sure she was in heaven.

Kissing at first tenderly, and then with increasing passion, Jo felt Blair moving up against her, eventually grinding their hips together in a way that precluded further thought. Shifting away from Blair's lips, she heard a vague groan of protest that turned into a pleased moan as she moved down her neck to her collarbone. Returning her hand to a breast she sought out a nipple, joining in Blair's moan as she arched into the touch.

Slowly, relishing the moment, Jo brought her lips toward the nipple as her hand sought out its mate. At the last moment, she raised her eyes to glance at Blair, only to find her watching. Swallowing at the intensity, Jo licked around the pronounced areola, mimicking her action with her fingers on the other side, before wrapping her lips around the sensitive bud and drawing it into her mouth, all the while watching Blair's response. Lids fluttered over deep brown eyes at the sensation, but Blair continued to watch as her lover sucked and licked in a way that forced a most unladylike expletive from her lips.

Jo grinned at the sound, gently holding the object of her attention in her teeth before releasing it to growl, “Ya like that, Babe?” At Blair's whimpered response, she returned to her ministrations. With every lick and tug, further encouraged by the hand tangled in her hair, Jo swore she felt an equal response in her own clit. Judging from the way Blair was squirming and grinding her pelvis up against her, Jo supposed it must be mutual. 

When Blair added words to that sentiment, “Jo, please...” Jo reached down with one hand, savouring the soft skin of Blair's belly on her way to seek out panties. She remained latched onto a nipple as she did so, reluctant to give up this delight, until she felt Blair spreading her legs beneath her. Simultaneously moved and aroused by the welcome, she lifted her gaze in time to watch Blair's eyes open. 

It was at the exact moment that Jo moved to kiss Blair again that her fingers discovered how wet the woman's panties had become. Murmuring her pleasure into her lovers lips, she eagerly moved the barrier aside, marvelling at the feeling of soft, slippery folds enveloping her finger. In response, Blair pulled her harder into their kiss with a hand at the back of her head. Sinking into the hot wetness of Blair, Jo felt a tremor roll through her body, initiating a renewed flood between her own legs.

“Blair?” she choked out in realization when her fingers felt resistance, rising to look her in the eye. She knew what she was feeling... she was Blair's best friend, of course she knew. It just hadn't occurred to her until... “Blair, are you sure? We don't have to...”

All along Blair's physical response to her had served as Jo's guide throughout this new exploration. Now, as certainty focused her gaze, Blair wrapped her legs around Jo's hips and pulled her weight against her, driving her fingers inside, her grunted "Yes!" changing immediately into a sound of unmistakable pleasure. The overall effect left both women unmoving a moment, as Blair's body became familiar with this new feeling, and Jo struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the intimacy. 

When Blair pulled Jo's lips to hers in a searing kiss, Jo drew her fingers partway out, only to return as Blair's hips rolled up for more. Their initial physical awkwardness eased rapidly by their emotional connection, they soon found their rhythm, moving together in unspoken understanding. As Jo moved her lips down to Blair's neck, closing her eyes to better take in the scent and taste of her lover, she lost herself in the additional sensation of breasts and hips pressing up against hers, and of legs still locked around her waist. 

When Blair finally found release, her back arching as she clutched at thrusting fingers, she called out Jo's name in a tone so deliciously vulnerable that it would haunt her dreams for years to come.

Catching her breath, Jo leaned back on her heels, taking in the vision of the nude goddess splayed before her, her heart bursting at the unique privilege of having brought her to this state. Deep brown eyes smoldered and locked with hers before, unexpectedly, they flashed gold and a wicked grin spread across the blonde's features. Suddenly Jo found herself on her back, the heiress upon her, tearing hungrily at her remaining clothes while claiming her lips in a passionate kiss. It didn't take long before the efforts had Jo's eyes rolling back in her head. They fell asleep in a satisfied heap, a tangle of arms, legs and twisted sheets.

Jo remembered waking briefly in the night to find evidence of her dreams snuggled peacefully, beautifully in her arms. Filled with uncharacteristic sentimentality she kissed the blonde mane with appreciation, consciously committing the perfect moment to memory.

=-=-=-=-=

Daylight beat harshly through the giant windows when Jo next opened her eyes. Glancing around at the realization that she was alone in the king-size bed, she relaxed as the smiling heiress in a bathrobe came into focus.

"'Morning Sleeping Beauty," Blair breathed huskily.

"Hey," Jo grinned back. Then, noting her friend's hurried movements as she made her way across the room, "Whatcha doin'?"

"It's a big day. I have to get ready."

Jo felt a sudden wave of nausea as her heart fell heavily to the pit of her stomach. "You mean... you're still..." nothing was making sense.

Genuine shock registered on Blair's face. "Of course. Jo, I thought you understood... I said this couldn't change..."

"But I... we..." she could find neither words nor the breath to propel them.

"Jo, no," spoken tenderly, as if to a confused child, "a Warner simply cannot be gay."

Rediscovering her ability to move as hot rage and embarrassment coursed through her veins, Jo scrambled for her clothes, pulling them on as she bolted down the stairs. She could hear Blair's pained voice behind her, but the words were lost beneath the deafening rush of blood in her ears. Stumbling on the last step, her vision blurred with tears, Jo grabbed her helmet, made her way to the door and ran down the hall. Unwilling to wait for the elevator, she tore open the door to the stairs.

As she sprinted down the flights, she heard a voice strangled with anguish cry, "I'm so sorry!" The words echoed in the stairwell like a nightmarish taunt. As it happened, they were to be the last exchange between the two women for 26 years and counting.


	4. Chapter 4

Jo woke again at 10am already feeling drained and vaguely cynical. Bleary eyed, she said "coffee," aloud to no one, then proceeded to the kitchenette to make some. Within the hour she was dressed and ready to face the day, stainless travel mug in hand.

Stopping at the garage downstairs, she hollered, "Eh, Sal! How's that Jeep?"

"You tell me. Bobby's been poking at it all morning."

Making her way to the '86 CJ-7, Jo admired the 31" tires, 3" lift, custom paint and and full stainless hardware. Bobby, baby-faced and fresh out of college, started the engine so the that she could hear the misfire. Glancing back toward Sal's office she called, "I think I see your problem."

"Yeah?" came the gravelly response.

"Yeah. Seems you've got a kid born after fuel-injection diagnosin' a carburetor." Tousling Bobby's hair good-naturedly, Jo beckoned for him to join her under the hood. "C'mere, let me show ya."

Deftly removing the circular air filter and polished chrome housing, Jo slapped her free palm firmly over the carburetor's air intake below it, effectively cutting off the vehicle's air supply. As the motor continued to run uninterrupted, she raised her eyebrows meaningfully at the young man. "It's gettin' air somewhere, right?"

"Right," he nodded sagely.

"So whatcha thinkin'?"

Bobby hesitated. "Hoses?" he asked.

"Ya askin' me or tellin' me?"

"Hoses," he repeated, now with conviction.

"Me too," she grinned, punching him in the shoulder. "I knew cousin Pauly's kid had brains."

Afterwards, sipping her coffee in Sal's office, she listened attentively while her ageing uncle updated her on her extended family's lives, and happenings in the shop. Eventually, glancing at the time she excused herself. "I've gotta head to work, but if that 'Stang's still givin' ya trouble I can give it the day tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Sal replied, thinking the upstairs apartment was an easy trade for having the best diagnostic mind in New Jersey on call, especially since Jo had done most of the renovations herself. "You stay safe out there!"

"Um-hmm," Jo grunted noncommittally, always hesitant to make a promise she couldn't necessarily keep. As she headed out the door, Bobby held up a vacuum hose with a 2" gaping hole rotted through. Her thumbs up had him grinning with pride as he set about replacing it.

=-=-=-=-=

Hours later, dusk found Jo brooding over her end-of-shift paperwork. If dealing with murdered children was the worst part of the job, then dealing with their parents came a close second. Sighing, she realized there wasn't a single person left unshattered by this experience. A life was lost, painfully and much too soon. A parent had confessed to the monstrosity, leaving another parent guilt-ridden, horrified, enraged and alone while two young siblings watched their family dissolve into utter devastation. Where was the justice? What would justice even look like? Jo rubbed her face in defeat, heaving a sigh. Having grown up in arguably the toughest part of the Bronx she'd seen more darkness than many of her co-workers. Nevertheless, she never got used to it. She couldn't imagine how a person would.

"Hey Polniaczek, you coming to McCluskey's?" Marty's shout from across the station interrupted her thoughts. The pub was at the end of the block, and usually harboured an odd blend of cops, cop wannabes and people from the neighbourhood they served. In her rookie days she had joined the throng often, but now she felt the need to resist. She was tempted, of course, but that was the issue. Once seated with a beer, the boys, and the seemingly impenetrable darkness occupying her mind, she couldn't imagine a good reason to ever leave the place. It was like she was afraid to lose herself to her badge. Although she knew she didn't have a full understanding of what that meant, she figured it was reason enough to not partake... at least not the way she felt right now.

"Nah, not tonight, boys."

"You say that every night!" That was Brian, who'd not missed a night at McCluskey's in 30 years running.

"OK, maybe I'm sick of lookin' at you guys' ugly mugs all day!" her tone was mocking. "I'm just tryin' to be polite here," she grinned.

That sent the boys out the door, laughing, shoving and insulting each other.

Finishing her final report for the day, Jo ran a frustrated hand across her brow before logging out and heading to the loft.

=-=-=-=-=

Jo had barely been home for half an hour when, pacing the loft end to end, her restlessness got the better of her. She moved instinctively toward the boxing gloves on the shelf but, flexing her still-sore knuckles, she thought better of it. Moving instead to the dresser by the bed, she pulled out black Levi's and a black tank top, quickly changed, then made her way to the door where she grabbed a black leather motorcycle jacket, boots and her full-face matte black helmet.

Downstairs, she wheeled her 2009 Yamaha VMax out of the shop before manually closing the overhead door. After a circle check of the bike, a remnant from her police training that had come in handy over the years, she pulled on the helmet and zipped her jacket. Tossing her right leg over the bike and flexing her fists into black leather gloves, she hit the ignition before turning onto the street with the deep rumble characteristic of the 1700cc V4 engine.

Moving smoothly through the diminishing evening traffic she made her way toward Manhattan. Although her first bike had been purchased as cheap transportation, it had rapidly become more than that. While Jo could certainly appreciate the pleasure of zooming along in a climate controlled soundproof metal box with seatbelts and airbags, there was something to be said for the motorcyclist's direct connection to the world around them. Weather could change the flavour of a ride completely, and the smells of BBQ shacks, bakeries and fresh cut grass kept a rider present. The world was somehow more real from the seat of a bike, and yet it provided a kind of escape a car driver would never understand.

Although the easy pleasure of rolling through city streets on a summer night was undeniable, the rolling tension in her shoulders told Jo that tonight she needed speed. With that realization, she turned North onto the Hudson Pkwy. Leaning into turns and passing slower cars, she longed to leave the city and its speed limits behind. She hated getting caught speeding in her own jurisdiction, so she contemplated the less travelled routes in the area. Eventually, she felt her pulse quicken with recognition of the upcoming exit. Cutting across two lanes of traffic, she pulled onto the ramp and eased off the throttle. She'd discovered this particular back-road on her first trip to Peekskill, the day she made a questionable impression by parking her bike in Mrs. Garrett's flower garden.

The back-road was in better shape than it had been then. A lot can change in 30 years. Back then it had been gravel in patches; now it was all smooth blacktop, but rarely patrolled. Perfect. Her pulse stepping up in anticipation, Jo came to a complete stop and leaned back, stretching out her shoulders before dropping forward again. Gunning the throttle with her right hand while popping up through the gears with her left foot, she pushed the bike to do what it did best.  
Much like a well tuned 1970s muscle car, the VMax was designed to win the 1/4 mile drag race. The engine roared like a wildcat suddenly released from its chains, tearing at the pavement in its willingness to build speed. Jo ducked down, cutting wind resistance as she raced her imaginary opponent. By the time the turns came in sight, a glance at the needle showed 96mph and climbing.

Exhilarated, Jo leaned hard into the first right turn, keeping her eyes level with the horizon and using her full lane to carve a smooth line. Accelerating out of the turn brought the bike upright, only to lean left into the next one, her lower knee only inches from the pavement. Guiding the bike though the series of curves felt like a cross between dancing and flying. Every motion had a direct effect on the 700lb of metal screaming along the road, and even the slightest miscalculation could prove deadly. Jo loved it.

After running through the turns again in the opposite direction, she rejoined the highway homeward. As the adrenaline rush faded however, she frowned. She needed more.

=-=-=-=-=

Without recalling the decision to come here, Jo found herself parking in front of a familiar building flashing neon lights and emitting the heavy thump of loud music. Locking the helmet and gloves to the bike, she unzipped her jacket as she strode inside.

"Hey Casanova! Your regular?" The bartender's thick Jersey accent carried easily over the din. At 6' in heels, the dark beauty was an imposing figure, fashionably dressed to emphasize her assets, yet powerful in both build and character, rarely needing to call on bouncers for backup.

"I ain't got a regular." Jo was understandably confused. She'd originally come to this club because they had 10 beers on tap. She liked the variety and hated being seen as predictable.

"'Course ya do," Dana responded with a conspiratorial wink. "A brew and a blonde, am I right?"

"Eh, you bustin' my chops here?" Jo scolded, feeling colour rise in her face.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with knowin' what you want, girl!" the bartender replied with a disarming grin as she poured a shaken daiquiri. "Besides, the pickin's good tonight," she added, nodding toward a cluster of beautiful women sharing a laugh at the far end of the bar. "So how about that brew?"

"Make it a Keystone Light, thanks," Jo replied with chagrin, and then, admiring the women as Dana slid her a pint, "er... what's the blonde in blue drinking?"

The bartender smiled knowingly as she passed her a colourful highball.

Taking the drink, Jo grinned in spite of herself. She liked Dana's outspoken, no nonsense style. Somehow she managed to run the crowded bar like a private party, leaving every customer feeling like a welcome guest. Heck, on Open Mic Night she'd even been known to take over the stage hip-hop style when properly coaxed. Laying bills on the bar to cover both drinks and a generous tip, Jo nodded curtly at her before she made her way toward the attractive blonde.

Much like fighting and fixing things Jo had realized once she came out that picking up women came easily to her... but she hadn't the foggiest idea why. Had she asked, Dana could have told her it was her intrinsic swagger that combined with her athletic physique and piercing blue-green eyes that made femme hearts flutter. Of course her brooding presence and chivalrous charm topped it off, but it was that rare grin, when one was lucky enough to receive it, always sealed the deal.

Tonight's pretty blonde in blue turned out to be named Sandy. Moments after downing the drink Jo handed her with a self-assured smirk, they were on their way to the door, Jo's half-finished beer abandoned on the table. Jo held the front door for her, then escorted her to the waiting motorcycle with an arm wrapped protectively yet somehow seductively around her waist.

Back at Sandy's place, they moved quickly to the bedroom leaving a trail of jackets and tops. When Sandy reached to unbutton the brunette's jeans, Jo whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and abandon the task, dropping backward to the bed with Jo on top of her. After Sandy's final cries of passion, Jo headed homeward, pleading an early shift. The following morning, Sandy's coworkers would notice a sparkle in her eye as she spoke of the mysterious biker who promised an evening's pleasure, and then delivered.

Later, back at the loft, Jo chased down her own release, intermingling memories of tonight's adventure with those of another blonde from decades ago. Her tension finally lessened, she fell into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The shop was empty on Saturdays, and Jo enjoyed the solitude. Working with her hands on her own time without an audience gave her a chance to sort her thoughts. She supposed nothing had come of the whole Survivor thing; It had been months since she'd heard Blair's name, for which she was grateful. It was hard enough to deal with the blonde's random appearance in her memories and fantasies without the added pressure of misguided friends casting her as the woman's personal white knight. Why should she care at all about the frivolities of a self-involved heiress living with her husband in Texas? She had her own life to live.

Jo's phone rang as if on queue. Taking the call on speaker, she balanced the phone on the Beemer's radiator as she continued to pull and replace fuses while watching for a change in the amp-meter's gauge.

"Hey Tootie! How ya doin'?"

"You were wrong."

"Was not!" Jo disputed automatically, then, "About what?"

"You said not to worry about Blair because she wouldn't get on Survivor. You were wrong."

"She got on?" Jo was surprised. "For real?"

"Yeah. She's having a farewell party next Friday, and then leaving on Monday. It'll probably be the last time we see her alive!"

Typical Tootie melodrama, chuckled Jo. "What is this, The Firing Squad Edition?"

"You know what I mean. This really is un-Blair, and she won't dish on her reasoning. I don't think she's OK."

"I got nothin', Tootie. By this time you probably know her better than I do."

"No one knows Blair better than you do, Jo. At least come to her send-off?"

"I don't think so."

"You're both being really stupid. I hope you know that." Tootie was sounding petulant, but Jo had had enough of problems she couldn't fix.

"It'll be fine."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

It took another hour to trace the power draw on the 1999 BMW M-Coupe to corroded portion of the main wiring harness running under the passenger's door sill. Once found, a few minutes of soldering and taping solved a problem four previous mechanics couldn't find. The owner had been ready to sell his treasured sports car, and would certainly be pleased when Sal delivered the good news on Monday. Just to be sure... and frankly because driving fun cars was Jo's favourite job perk... she opened the garage door to back the car out for a trial run.

Despite the luxurious leather interior, powerful engine and tight steering, Jo found her thoughts wandering. Blair choosing to endure hardship of any kind was odd. Then again, the woman had surprised her in the past by stepping out of her comfort zone; All she'd needed was a good reason. What good reason could there be for this particular venture? For most people it was all about the million dollar prize, but that was a pittance for the heiress. Why do this?

Realizing with a sigh that her enjoyment of the drive had been compromised, Jo turned back toward the shop.

With the car back in its spot, Jo left a note detailing her work and findings for Sal, locked the shop, and went upstairs to spend the rest of the afternoon researching Survivor on-line. Studying the show's scenarios and contests, as well as the profiles and gameplay of past contestants, she worked to establish a characterization of the types of people who play and win the game. Only when her phone rang did she notice that she was sitting in darkness, the sun having long since set.

"Hey Nat!"

"I see! The secret to catching you awake is to call in the middle of the night? I think I get it!"

Smiling at her friend's logic, Jo realized it was 1am. "I wouldn't count on it."

"Hey, I learn from experience." Natalie replied. Then, moving on to the purpose of her call, "So Tootie told you about the farewell party?"

"She did."

"And being the loyal friend you are, you're letting by-gones be by-gones and going to support Blair, right?"

"Nope."

"OK, I tried."

"Yep, you did." Jo waited for the other shoe to drop. She knew hard-hitting reporter Natalie Green's style of persuasion tended to include a one-two punch.

"Oh... forgot to mention. Blair's filed for divorce."

And there it was. Jo's heart lurched and her throat tightened, leaving her unable to respond. Was the room spinning?

"You should be there, Jo." Nat said decisively, hanging up without leaving time for an argument.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting in the parlour of Blair's Dallas home, Jo felt distinctly out of place. It had been a long time since she'd been surrounded by the hobnobbing elite, and she was realizing now just how much she'd enjoyed her reprieve. Fortunately she'd managed to find this leather love seat, tucked in by the entrance to the kitchen, from which she could watch the festivities unfold without having to partake. She'd initially been struck breathless when she'd caught sight of the hostess in a glamourous low-cut gown, looking more beautiful than she had even in memory. But as Blair worked the crowd, greeting various guests and tossing her head with phony laughter, Jo recalled how that shallow conversation served only to irritate her. Glancing at her watch, she decided that she'd leave in half an hour and take a red-eye back home. Coming here had been a mistake.

"Hello Jo," came unexpectedly from the kitchen doorway.

How those two simple words in that sentimental tone managed to create such intimacy in a room full of people, even after all these years, was beyond Jo. Turning toward the sound, she was simultaneously pleased and annoyed at the confirmation that their source looked more radiant than ever.

"Blair," came out hoarse. Clearing her throat, Jo grinned, aiming to recreate old times, "I hear you've gone mad."

"That does seem to be the consensus, doesn't it," Blair nodded, curling into the loveseat beside her.

"Got a better explanation?"

She shook her head, shrugging, "Maybe I _have_ gone mad." Then, turning in clear appraisal of Jo, she smiled, "Look at you... it's been ages. You look good! Very..." gazing at the strong shoulders, slightly broader than she remembered, and athletic arms, "Very fit." She nodded her approval.

The flattery left Jo uneasy. Blair's smile and tone were insincere, an obvious redirect from the question posed. It was the kind of thing Jo had watched her pull on acquaintances, and she really didn't like being on the receiving end instead. But then, it had been 26 years, hadn't it... what was she expecting? The realization was disheartening.

"I work out." Jo kicked herself for her sudden awkwardness.

The blonde nodded, clearly in Hostess Mode now. "What else do you do? You're still with the NYPD?"

"Yeah, Homicide Detective 1st Grade now." Geeze, this was torture. It felt like a first date. There was a reason Jo didn't exactly "date". "I put in some time in Sal's shop, too. You remember Sal?"

"Your uncle, of course. How is he?"

Jo shifted uncomfortably. Had she known it would be like this, she wouldn't have come. "Uh, good. Had some heart trouble a few years back, but he's takin' care of himself. Quit smokin'."

"Glad to hear it. He's a fine man." Blair's smile was still not rising to her eyes, but it wasn't as insincere as it had been. Jo realized she missed the warmth of Blair's real smiles. "And what do you do besides work?"

Jo glanced around the room in search of a familiar face, but Natalie and Tootie were engaged in conversation with some guy she'd seen in the tabloids, and unlikely to rescue her. Even the old Blair who talked only about herself was preferable to this interrogation. "Well, I ride the bike, hang at Dana's, do a few mixed martial arts tournaments..."

"Dana? Is that your girlfriend?"

"Dana's? No... it's a bar." Jo's irritation was flaring. "Listen, it's been nice, but I've gotta catch a flight back. I work at noon." As she stood, she missed the momentary panic that flashed in Blair's eyes.

Composure regained, the hostess smiled, "Oh, I'm so sorry you can't stay. Please let me walk you out."

Jo was about to object, but when Blair slipped her arm through hers as if it belonged there, she felt a familiar heat shoot through her. Wow... perhaps not everything had changed after all.

As they walked companionably to the door, Blair fielded her guests' greetings and congratulations with effervescent charm. Most found some way to ridicule her upcoming challenge, either by promising to see her next week, or by directly questioning her sanity. The heiress laughed along with apparent delight, but her grip on Jo's bicep grew firmer with each new taunt. Clenching her jaw as she felt her protective instincts rise, Jo eventually took the lead, clearing a path with an assertive glare and guiding them rapidly through the gathering.

Once outside, Blair released her grip as they turned to face each other. Jo's eyes were dark with concern. "You OK?" she asked.

But Blair's false front was firmly locked in place. With a flip of her hair and a smile, she declared the evening to be wonderful, and the party a success. Jo smiled wanly, turned on her heel and headed toward her rental car.

Halfway down the walkway, she turned back tentatively to see Blair still standing on the front porch where she'd left her, arms crossed defensively across her chest. Shaking her head, the brunette made her way back.

Avoiding Blair's guarded eyes, Jo began to speak.

"Listen, Blair... I really have no idea why you wanna do this thing, but I need you to know that I don't think you're crazy."

"You don't?"

The uncertainty of the voice brought Jo's eyes up, earnest emerald locking with vulnerable brown.

"I don't. Not for a second," she said with conviction. "See, everyone knows you hate dirt and physical effort, but not likin' somethin' ain't the same thing as not bein' able to do it... especially for you. In the time I've known you, you've scrubbed floors, painted walls, even bowled ten frames in rented shoes." She couldn't hold back a grin at the memory. "I've seen ya covered in paint, slathered with food, and stuck knee deep in a pig pen. If ya really wanna do this, then you can do this."

Blair smiled sincerely, "Thanks, Jo."

"But see, that ain't the half of it," Jo continued, her voice gaining emotion. "The way I figure it, the show is really a kind of popularity contest, and that's your thing! The work, the dirt, the hunger, they're just distractions. Let those other folks win the obstacle courses. Do your part for the team, but don't lose sight of the real game. This Survivor thing is all about networking.

"Remember when you convinced a half-dozen people to switch rooms just so you could have a private one at Eastland? When it comes to plans and people, the smart money's always on you, even on some desert island. You're not crazy at all, Blair; You could actually win this. Hell, I'd bet on ya!"

Caught by surprise as Blair flew into her arms, Jo was forced to re-establish her footing to keep them both from landing in the rose garden. As she held the beauty tenderly she reeled at the flood of sensations, and the memories they carried. With effort, Jo released her as soon as feasible, watching as the blonde stood a little taller, carefully wiping away stray tears without ruining her make-up.

"You're the only one, you know," she said with a shy smile, before suddenly clarifying, "The only one who doesn't think I'm crazy."

"Well, ya might still be crazy," Jo joked with her trademark cockiness, "but not for this."

Pulling away in the rental, Jo looked back just as Blair, opening the door to rejoin her party, did the same.

=-=-=-=-=

Jo tried in vain to sleep on the flight homeward, instead finding her thoughts returning to Blair's upcoming quest. Tootie had said that Blair had hired a trainer to prepare for the physical demands, which explained the change in her physique, but she still didn't have the tough, capable look Jo figured a woman of their age would need to last through the first week. Also, she feared that the blonde's apparent naivety would work against her in arranging alliances. Jo was quickly realizing that she wished she could go too, not to interfere, but to back up the socialite. Just like old times, the need to keep Blair safe was overwhelming.

It was almost dawn when she arrived at the loft, but this couldn't wait. First, she scheduled a 9am pick-up -only 4 hours sleep, Jo groaned to herself- for a same-day package headed to Dallas. From the dresser she pulled out a much loved charcoal grey T-shirt featuring a silhouetted female form in mid-kick encircled by the words "NYC Mixed Martial Arts Finalist, 2010".

According to the rules, Survivor contestants weren't allowed to communicate with each other until filming began, although they would see each other en route to the location. Jo figured this would be a great time to make a strong first impression.

The note was short:

_For your first day..._  
_Let them think you earned it!_  
_L_

Jo paused mid-word to reconsider her sign off. Working around the "L" already on the paper, she signed it:

_Good Luck,  
Jo_


	7. Chapter 7

Jo found Blair creeping into her thoughts more than she had in years. Despite a conscious effort to keep busy over the past weeks, putting in overtime at the station and then tinkering in the shop, quiet moments had her wondering how the blonde had fared when she'd broken a nail, when she'd had no choice of outfit, when her dark roots started to show. Even hunger would pale in comparison to these hardships for Blair. The woman had always placed so much stock in maintaining her appearance, and using her looks as a tool in her relationships with both men and women.

Her personal challenge would almost certainly be learning to navigate intense human interactions with neither money, status nor her perception of a "perfect" look at her disposal. As much as these particular assets had never been part of Jo's repertoire, she had to admit she admired Blair's courage at being willing to give them up. Even with her certainty that her friend's tenacity, negotiating skills and strength of character would prove more valuable in the end, she realized with a shudder that Blair was likely to fall -hard- before she began to climb. Heaving a sigh, and hating that she couldn't send encouragement, Jo headed back down to the shop in search of something to do.

"Hey Sal!"

"Whatcha doin' here?"

"Just figured maybe you could use a hand," Jo replied, slouching into a chair across from her uncle.

"How could I use a hand? You've already fixed everything... even the boiler! You're spendin' so much time in the shop you've got Bobby worried for his job."

"Yeah, I guess I've been down more than usual," Jo sighed.

"You put in damn-near forty hours last week, kid. I oughtta be payin' ya salary," Sal paused, eying Jo with concern. "Everything OK at the cop-shop? They still givin' ya hours?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm actually puttin' in overtime there, too," Jo admitted.

"So you're not sleepin'. Gonna tell me what's eatin' ya?"

Jo shifted under his gaze. "Just stuff, you know."

"So work's OK, your bike's runnin' fine, your Ma's doin' good... gotta be a woman," Sal deduced, then paused giving the situation thought. "And you ain't gonna figure out no woman if you don't get some sleep."

Seeing the merit of her uncle's wisdom, and feeling physically tired even if her head wouldn't shut down, Jo unleashed her remaining energy on the heavy bag before calling it an early night. After a long, steaming hot shower, she climbed into bed hoping for sleep.

=-=-=-=-=

The ringing of the phone jarred Jo upright in bed and left her trying to catch her breath.

"3am Nat? What the hell?"

"Were you sleeping?"

"No... I was skydiving!" Jo snarled.

"OK, maybe not so much the midnight calls. Got it."

Jo groaned in response.

"Seriously, I just got called myself, or I would have given you notice," the reporter explained, then shouted, "TAXI! ... Sorry Jo. I need to get to the Ukraine for a breaking story," then, muffled, "Thanks, LaGuardia please."

Jo always found Natalie hard to follow when she on the trail of a new story. Being half asleep didn't help.

"So Jo... you with me, Jo?"

"Yep."

"So yeah, I need you to go do the Survivor thing."

"What Survivor thing?"

"If Blair makes it to 28 days... what is that, next Thursday?... They're supposed to fly me out to visit. We do some challenge, hang out, smile for the cameras, they fly me home. Except I won't be here. I need you to go."

"Ya want me to go to Indonesia on a week's notice?"

"In short, yes. I know it's crazy, but who else am I supposed to tell them? Tootie's shooting in LA, Bailey's pregnant, I don't imagine she wants her ex-husband or her parents out there. Oh, wait... let me try Mrs. G!"

Jo had to laugh at the image of 88-year-old Mrs. Garrett doing a Survivor challenge. She was still feisty, yes, but not that feisty. "So what do I have ta do?" Jo acquiesced. The Chief had been hounding her to take some of her stockpiled vacation days. He wouldn't be happy about the short notice, but she was pretty sure he'd work with it.

"You're in? Great! I should plan all our negotiations for 3am! Let me text you the info. Just tell the producers who you are... I'll give them your name."

=-=-=-=-=

Blair did, indeed, last 28 days without being voted off the island. The fact became clear when Jo received her flight information via email from the producers. The Chief had, as predicted, been delighted to see Jo take a week off. Apparently the people in HR were convinced that her 25% average overtime and three years without a vacation made her a prime candidate for burnout. He actually thanked her for getting the suits off his case.

With her duffle bag packed and tossed by the door, Jo paced the length of the loft, running a hand through her hair while trying to evict the butterflies from her stomach. Stopping in the kitchenette, she removed the postcard of a Dallas sunset from the refrigerator door. Turning it over, she ran her finger over the words in familiar handwriting:

_The shirt is perfect. You always know just the right thing!_  
_So glad to have you back in my life._  
_Love,_  
_Blair_

As her finger lingered over the word "Love", Jo drew in a ragged breath. Blair had signed everything to everyone with "Love" as long as she had known her. She was just one of those people. Rotating her shoulders, she replaced the postcard. The woman was glad to have her old friend back... and why wouldn't she be? Her circle of snobs were no help at all at times like this. Blair was obviously trying to prove something, like so many people going through a divorce. Granted, she was doing it on a grand scale, Warner style, but that was to be expected. She would surely need a friend at this point, so Jo would be there.

Having Blair as a friend again could be nice... but she was glad there would be cameras. As long as they weren't alone she was unlikely to lose her head, and do something stupid again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a double header for y'all... chapters 8 & 9.
> 
> Happy 2016!

The tropical heat was stifling. After spending the night in a local resort, Jo and the other contestants' loved ones had been brought by boat to the island. Now they were in a production tent watching and listening to the video feed as the six remaining Survivors made their way to the challenge site some 25' away. Jo chugged the remainder of her water bottle, knowing that staying hydrated was key for her stay here.

She could see the contestants now... a curiously even split not only of men and women, but also of players in their 20s and those middle-aged. All were deeply tanned, the men sporting beards of varying length, and they had the gaunt look of people who've suddenly lost a lot of weight. Interesting, Jo thought, that in another era such an appearance was indicative of a situation much harsher than a TV show. What was it that compelled people to engage in this voluntarily? She understood sports, both team and individual, as well as the joy of competition. Perhaps this desire stemmed from the same place?

As the host began to explain today's events, Jo noted that Blair looked tired. When one of the cameras moved in for a close up, she saw the weight of the past month in the woman's eyes. Blair could always put up a good front, and she still smiled and nodded as the host spoke, but the emptiness in her eyes was haunting. Jo's heart went out to her, realizing she'd never seen Blair look so drained, so braced on the brink of collapse. A spontaneous cry of joy arose from the contestants, audible from behind the trees as well as the monitors, when they were told of their loved ones' visit.

They were hustled down the path toward the challenge site as a group. It felt decidedly surreal standing here, 15' from a broken Blair, surrounded by cameramen, grips and an odd combination of tropical jungle and high-tech equipment, awaiting her cue. Never had the line between reality and fantasy been so blurry, and Jo suspected it would just get worse. Spending a month in this ethereal world would surely shake one's grip on reality. As she heard her name called and she jogged out of the bushes to greet Blair, she decided her role here was to remind her friend of her inner strength, and that all of this was just a game.

=-=-=-=-=

Blair was crying. Not just a tear or two caught with a handkerchief, but full out sobbing as she clung to Jo and wept. Jo's own tears always came too easily, especially when Blair cried... she knew it was inevitable. And so they stood, Jo whispering encouragement and feeling a fool for crying into Blair's hair as cameras fought for the best angle. Jo really, really wanted to punch someone, and she hoped the sobbing woman in her arms would be proud that she didn't.

Eventually, when Blair was able to speak again, the host made some sappy remark about this "touching moment". Still emotional, Blair said that Jo had been the one person she most wanted to see. Jo, for her part, found the mushiness annoying. She just kept her gaze focused on Blair, trying to ignore the cameras circling them like sharks.

As the rest of the contestants met their loved ones: a son, a brother, a husband and two mothers, Blair continued to cling to Jo as though she might disappear if released. When the host described today's challenge, Jo looked over the course, then eyed their competition. Hearing that the event relied heavily upon the visitors' ability to throw with accuracy, she was glad she still played a pick-up game of 21 with the boys in the neighbourhood now and then. Blair must have been thinking the same thing, because she leaned in to Jo and whispered excitedly, "I'm so glad you're a jock!"

Jo chuckled; She couldn't imagine another time when would Blair have said that. The winner, they were told, would get to bring their loved one back to camp for the night, which brought a squeal and another hug from Blair.

Lots were drawn and lanes assigned, with Blair positioned by a cart full of muddy bean bags, and Jo halfway between her and a set of five bamboo targets balanced vertically on small platforms. Jo grinned as she recalled tossing rocks at milk bottles lined up on Mrs. Colangelo's fence posts as a kid... this was the same game. Moving over to Blair before she took her mark, she whispered, "Toss me the next one as soon as I make a throw. Don't wait for me to turn around... I'll catch it. Just keep 'em comin'."

Blair grabbed the first bag as soon as the buzzer sounded. She tossed it daintily, watching it land with a "plop" halfway to Jo.

"Try again, a little harder," Jo encouraged.

The next one landed beside the first as the host called out, "One down for Mike!"

"Throw it hard Blair! Come on!" Jo was feeling the pressure.

When the third landed just past the first two, Jo lost her cool. "Aw for cryin' out loud Princess! Can't ya even throw a stupid bag more than ten feet? Trust my luck to wind up on TV paired with a bottle-blonde airhead who..."

The next one hit Jo squarely in the nose. Hard. Wiping mud out of her eyes as she spun, Jo launched the bag perfectly at her target, spinning back around to face Blair before the stick even hit the ground. Her bright grin contrasted with her muddy face when she realized the next bag was already in the air. The jock managed to catch it before she took another hit to the face, turning smoothly to to knock down her next target. After establishing their rhythm they shot five for five, Jo punching her fist in the air with a triumphant cry as the buzzer sounded their victory.

Blair ran to Jo, screaming with excitement and jumping at the last minute into Jo's arms, sending them both tumbling backward into the mud. Jo lay on her back laughing as Blair kissed her muddy cheek, straddling her hips. The laughter died suddenly when their eyes met and Jo's breath caught in her throat with cameras moving in closer. Ever accustomed to an audience, Blair pushed herself up, smiling beautifully and drawing the crew away from Jo, still lying breathless. When she finally had regained her composure, Blair moved back to Jo's side, apologizing a little too loudly for having winded her with her exuberant leap.

Once they stood in the winner's circle, the host announced that Blair would choose another person who would get to keep their loved one for the night. Jo was intrigued by the psychology of this tactic, placing the winner in a very difficult position, sure to amplify any animosity there might be among the contestants. Blair, however, handled the moment with class, selecting the older man and his son with sincere apologies to the rest, who seemed to genuinely empathize with her predicament. When the host pulled the same trick again, telling Blair to ask for another, she remained unphased, choosing the younger man with his brother. In the end she managed to make her choices without offending anyone, offering compassion for those sending their loved ones home. Jo was impressed.


	9. Chapter 9

Back at camp, the players gave their guests the grand tour, showing their crude bamboo shelter where they huddled through 2 weeks of rain, their cooking area with its dwindling supply of rice, and the calendar tree marked off with 31 days.

"31 days! You're doin' it Blondie!" Jo grinned with obvious pride.

"I am, aren't I!" Blair smiled in return, curling into Jo's shoulder, still stuck to her like glue.

Caked in mud, they swam out into the ocean to wash off, with the added bonus of escaping their audience, if only momentarily. Floating in the bathtub-warm water in a tropical paradise, Jo was enjoying this time with her old friend, even with the strange energy of the game.

But soon Blair was crying again... about her broken nails, and her lack of product for her hair and her skin, about her filthy clothes and the humidity that made her hair crazy curly. When she spotted Jo's ear-to-ear grin, she stopped short.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Blair, you look beautiful," Jo said. She'd meant to sound casually uplifting, like best friends are wont to do, but her voice had dropped unbidden, adding an altogether different tone. Blair's anger dissipated immediately, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again as she looked over Jo's shoulder. Glancing back, Jo saw a cameraman wading out toward them.

"So that's really what's bothering you, isn't it?" Jo asked, "The lack of beauty products and clothes?"

"Yes!" Blair exclaimed, "It's driving me crazy!"

"But what about the alliances? The voting? The people?"

"Well, it's not easy, per se," Blair gave it some thought, "but it's no more complex than hiring, firing... mergers and acquisitions. This really is just a game, Jo," she explained.

Jo laughed heartily. "Only you would think that was the simpler part, Blair. But you're right, it is a game. Some people have a harder time remembering that."

"Yes, I've seen that with the other players," Blair admitted, glancing back toward their camp.

"But when I arrived this morning, you looked like you were having a hard time. That wasn't about your hair and nails," Jo guessed.

Blair gazed out to sea, and then at the cameraman. Finally, looking down into the clear water between them, she replied hesitantly, "I never imagined a person could be quite so alone in a crowd. I guess I just forgot there are people who believe in me." Raising her eyes to Jo's, she continued, "Thanks for coming. And tell Natalie thanks, too," she smiled warmly.

Cocking her head, she looked more closely at Jo. When her hand reached out toward her face, Jo glanced nervously at the cameraman. "What?" she asked, and then as Blair poked the bridge of her nose, "Ow! Whadja do that for?"

"It's swollen!"

"Well, yeah! Someone walloped me with a bean bag!"

"You were rude!" Blair complained, pulling her hand back.

"Worked, didn't it?" Jo grinned.

"I'm sorry about your nose," Blair whispered sincerely.

"We won!" Still grinning.

=-=-=-=-=

When the group gathered back at camp to cook dinner, Jo professed a lack of appetite. She'd gone hungry before, and couldn't in good conscience take from the meagre supplies that had to last more than a week. She'd had a good breakfast today, and would be dining again in civilization tomorrow evening. She'd be fine without food tonight. Blair and the others offered a few more times, but their arguments died rapidly, making Jo feel as thought she'd made the right choice. The other visitors must have agreed, for they followed suit, blaming the heat or the humidity for their disinterest in food.

Sipping coconut water, Jo watched the relationships between the players as they ate. The conversation was casual, but there was an underlying edge... not unlike some family dinners, Jo supposed. Jealousies and friendships were evident, with one young woman in particular speaking so tactlessly that she made even a Diablos-era Jo look downright civilized.

Blair seemed respected among the group, and as people began to wander off in clusters after dinner to discuss strategy, Jo was happy to take a back seat and watch the socialite work her magic. She had a talent for understanding the other contestants' immediate needs and motivations, and found ways to feed them. While her gameplay was complex and intricate, her delivery was warm, readily building trust in both her ideas and her intentions. Watching Blair played her game with impeccable wisdom and grace, Jo marvelled that she'd ever thought the blonde could use a hand out here. Lack of amenities aside, Blair was in her element.

=-=-=-=-=

Morning brought a scheduled departure, leaving a palpable sadness among both players and guests. Jo hugged Blair, trying to ignore the tantalizing feeling of fingernails at the nape of her neck.

"You're amazing," she said with feeling, "You are so doing this! You've already proven so many people wrong!" Moving back to look into Blair's eyes, she added, "You're always surprising me."

Blair's ever-present smile grew as tears welled in her eyes. Moving a stray hair out of Jo's eyes she whispered, voice choked with emotion, "I'm just so glad you came." As cameras moved in closer, Blair stepped out of their hug. Looking Jo up and down, she suddenly announced, "I want your shoes."

"Wha...?" Jo gaped.

"And your shirt. Come on... we're running out of time."

Jo busied herself with untying her running shoes. Standing again, she handed them over, looking around to see other visitors being stripped of various items, as well. She gasped involuntarily when she felt Blair's hands on her waist, under her shirt. Blair paused for a moment at the sound, their eyes locking, then moved her hands up, taking the shirt with them. The process felt seductively slow to Jo. Was it her imagination? She gulped audibly, raising her hands over her head as Blair's fingers trailed, feather-soft, up her ribcage and over her shoulders, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. Pulling the shirt over the brunette's head, Blair held it briefly to her heart, suddenly shy. "Thanks," she said, eyeing Jo in her sports bra and shorts.

"Ya sure you don't need my pants?" Jo asked, dripping sarcasm and feeling exposed.

"Well, if you're offering..." Blair laughed, raising a flirtatious brow as she reached playfully for the waistband. Jo turned and ran for the beach with a yelp, Blair in hot pursuit, both grateful for the break in the tension. Even the cameraman running in the sand behind them seemed to be enjoying himself.

They were almost at the boat when Blair caught up with Jo. Giggling in fun, she lunged and grabbed for a hand, startled by the shift in mood when she succeeded. They held hands briefly, uncomfortably, before Jo blinked away tears and smiled. "Bye," she said, climbing aboard.

"Bye," Blair nodded, moving up the beach to make room for the others.

Leaning into the railing at the stern of the boat, Jo watched silently as Blair's seated form on the beach grew smaller. Neither looked away until long after they'd lost sight of each other.


	10. Chapter 10

Jo's euphoria retreated as reality settled in. The truth was that winning Blair's heart was no more likely now than it had been back when they were roommates. Furtive glances, lingering touches, sentimental proclamations... none of these things meant anything more than friendship when delivered by the naturally affectionate and flirtatious socialite. Believing in the potential for more had always been Jo's failing, she realized with dismay, especially in light of all the evidence to the contrary. Blair had always dated boys and talked about them incessantly, right up until she got married. Sure, there had been that night -Jo flushed at the memory- but experimenting with a same-sex friend the night before the wedding was not exactly unusual behaviour, even back then. In today's world, lesbian affairs among straight college students seemed practically a right of passage. At worst, Blair could be accused of being fashionably ahead of her time. Jo smiled despite herself, knowing her friend would be flattered by this assessment.

Her smile faded quickly, though, as her predicament became clear. If she couldn't maintain a friendship with Blair, Jo decided, without tumbling back into the abyss of unrequited love, she'd have to abandon this friendship altogether. Pining endlessly for a woman who would never be hers was nothing less than torture.

Checking the date on her phone, she realized Blair would be back in the country within three days. Tootie, in New York to discuss the possibility of a Broadway revival, had been planning a gathering on Blair's return. This would be the first time, other than Blair's massive farewell party, that the Four Musketeers would be together in the same space since before the wedding. Asked while still riding the cloud of her Indonesian visit, Jo had readily agreed to attend. Now the event seemed a reasonable testing ground for the feasibility of a safe, platonic friendship with Blair.

=-=-=-=-=

"The Plaza?" Jo asked incredulously.

"Right," Tootie couldn't understand Jo's reluctance. "I'm staying here anyway, so Blair said she'd get a suite and order room service. We'll all be able to catch up without having to worry about any..." she hesitated. It was hard to complain about paparazzi without sounding bourgeois, "unwanted attention. Besides, we don't want to put you or Nat out."

It made sense, Jo admitted, and agreed begrudgingly. Her memories of The Plaza, however, were still raw after all these years, requiring a change of topic. "So she made the finals, eh? When do we find out who won?"

"They have to air the whole season first, starting in about five months. Then they'll shoot the final episode live in LA, about three months after that. I can't believe she made it, Jo! Who would have thought our Blair would last longer than 24 hours on Survivor?"

"Yeah," Jo replied, sounding distant, "Who'da thought..."

=-=-=-=-=

Standing outside the Terrace Suite of the Plaza Hotel, Jo was terrified. Any chance of friendship with Blair relied on being able to get over their single liaison and its resulting heartache, and yet she'd agreed to meet here, at the very site of the event. Having arrived uncharacteristically late to ensure that she and Blair wouldn't be left alone, she was glad to hear Natalie's muted voice, followed by Blair and Tootie's laughter through the door. Steeling herself for the memories waiting on the other side, she exhaled forcefully, and knocked.

Blair opened the door looking slim and tanned. Her hair was shiny and blonde again, curling gently at the ends, every hair in place. Designer clothes had already been tailored to her new weight, and the smile she offered was warm and genuine. Blair was at her best, and the effect it had on her made Jo want to turn and run. Instead she was pulled into a welcoming embrace that lasted a little longer than necessary as the ever-intimate "Hello Jo," was breathed directly into her ear. The trifecta of the voice, the scent and the silky hair was too much, adding layers of vivid clarity to the night she longed to forget. Catching her breath, she backed away from the blonde, tuning instead to face the two women in the seating area.

"Hey guys!" she managed to grin, relieved to see that the decor and furnishings had all been updated.

Tootie ran over in greeting, hugging Jo fiercely before walking her back to the couches. Natalie got up to deliver a hug as well, then moved the impressive platter of hors d'oeuvres within her reach as Jo settled into the couch beside her. If anyone noticed Jo's distracted state, flooded with memories everywhere she looked, they didn't let on. Once Blair returned with a chilled beer for Jo, the conversation continued where it had presumably left off, with Nat telling the light version of her recent Ukranian adventure. Jo knew from experience that this variation would be stripped of politics and war, touching only on brief moments of insight or laughter. The darkness and iniquity would appear only in her article, delivered to an audience prepared to receive it.

Before long, the conversation turned to Tootie and the possibility of returning to her first love: the stage. Having missed interacting directly with an audience, she longed to accept this wonderful opportunity, but was painfully aware of how few actors successfully transitioned back and forth between stage and screen. Actor Dorothy Ramsay valued her career too much to burn bridges, especially at this age. Her next move would require careful consideration.

Jo felt she had comparatively little to offer regarding her own life. Taking her lead from Nat, she told some amusing anecdotes, but steered clear of her actual cases. Detective shows might make for interesting TV, but most people didn't really want to imagine their friends dealing with mangled bodies and unrepentant killers on a daily basis. Asked by Nat about her future, she explained that she'd climbed as far as she could without moving to the other side of the desk. Already her salary was equal to that of a Lieutenant, and she was hesitant to take on a desk job. Early retirement might also be an option if she could find another project that drew her the same way.

All faces turned expectantly to Blair as Jo wrapped up. In light of recent events they were understandably curious, but where to begin? Natalie cut to the chase.

"So... 'Newly Divorced Heiress to the Warner Fortune Joins the Cast of Survivor'. How does that even happen?" Nat paused to wink confidentially, "Off the record, of course."

Blair smiled at Nat's delivery as she gazed into her wine glass. Taking a sip, she raised her eyes to her friends. "Well, I guess it started with the realization that I could never be enough... which opened my mind to the possibility that maybe I'm inherently enough." She looked at each woman before adding with a shrug, "Maybe we all are."

"Wow. Deep," Natalie nodded, impressed.

Tootie scowled at Nat, then turned back to Blair, "Nevermind the new age hoopla. I want to know what happened. Dish!"

Shaking her head at Tootie before pulling her into a one-armed hug, Blair sat back in her seat again and began to reveal a life dedicated to fulfilling her father's expectations. As far back as she could remember she was to be pretty, obedient and successful in all areas that befit her status. Once married and relocated away from her friends, her life seemed to become choreographed, from her attendance at galas to volunteering her legal skills to specified charities. She was not to earn a living, of course, but instead direct her energies to supporting her husband in his business dealings; to be always the beautiful and gracious representative of the Warner Family at every Winthrop gathering.

In time, it seemed only natural that Richard or Daddy would decide where it was appropriate for her to be seen and with whom. From there it wasn't such a big step to heeding gentle recommendations regarding the people it was appropriate for her to talk to on the phone... and when... and for how long.

Natalie's hand placed gently on her wrist forced Jo to notice her clenched jaw and white-knuckle grip on her beer bottle. Placing the drink on the table, she redirected her energies safely into a napkin as Nat, unwilling to interrupt Blair's monologue mouthed, "She's OK now." Blair continued, however, without noticing the exchange, her eyes glazed with the memory of troubled times.

"If there'd been yelling or threats, I might have seen it sooner," Blair considered, her tone thoughtful, "but it was so subtle. I'd already spent my entire life being who I needed to be to be loved, and this was no different. Two years ago, though, I received word of The Renaissance Youth Center's need for help in their legal department. I was so excited to find something I believed in that fell within 'the rules'! But Richard said that volunteering for them would take too much time, and Daddy said kids in the South Bronx didn't need another handout. I felt really passionate about this, though, so for the first time in over 25 years I argued my case. Over the following year I championed the merits of the organization, and demonstrated that all the work could be done from home without interfering with my assigned duties. I really did think that if I could convince them that this project fell within the rules it would be OK."

Pausing for another sip of wine, Blair leaned forward, shaking her head at her own naivite. Sadness crept into her tone, but her eyes remained dry. "I was wrong, of course... It wasn't OK. Suddenly I realized that following the rules had never brought the love I craved. I realized it never would. Following the rules only ever brought more rules." Clearing her throat, her voice gained a fierce determination as she continued. "Daddy threatened to cut me off for my defiance, and when I turned to my husband he told me I'd be nothing without Daddy. He said that all there was to Blair Warner was status, money and a fifty-year-old pretty face that would fade quickly without the money."

Blair delivered the last line with the venom it had initially carried. As she took a deep breath, she looked around at her friends' faces registering a mix of shock, concern and, in Jo's case, a fair degree of rage.

Natalie was the first to speak, "Blair, I had no idea..."

Blair reached for Nat's hand across the coffee table, offering a reassuring smile, "Of course you didn't. That was the whole point." Glancing at the others, she added, "For over twenty years I had no idea."

"You are so much more than what Richard said," Tootie's voice wavered, "You must know that!"

"I do, now," Blair nodded, "More so every day. And I must have suspected it then. You know, that's a big part of what Survivor was about. It was a place where I would have no money, no name, no status and no beauty products. It took me out of my comfort zone in every conceivable way, but also away from the people telling me who to be. I wanted to prove to Daddy, to Richard," Blair paused briefly, her eyes seeking out and locking with Jo's as she continued, "to everyone who was so sure I wouldn't last five minutes out there, that I was worthy. That even stripped of everything, I am enough."

Tootie drew Blair into a hug, saying, "If I'd known what you were up to, I'd never have doubted you. You're one of the most determined women I know."

"Hear, hear!" agreed Natalie, raising her glass.

"Oh I know that," Blair assured Tootie. "You guys have always believed in me. You've been more family to me than my own flesh and blood."

Raising her beer, Jo toasted, "To family!" as three glasses met her bottle over the table.

=-=-=-=-=

The reminiscing lasted well into the wee hours, before Natalie decided to call it a night. Her fear of being alone with Blair heightened by her desire to comfort the woman, to somehow take away the pain inflicted by her father and ex-husband, Jo jumped to her feet as well. Her good-byes were awkward as she concentrated on her silent mantra: _Don't let her break your heart again!_ As Tootie got up to leave as well, Jo managed to stay ahead of her. She couldn't be the last one leaving.

Natalie was out the door, with Jo right behind her when Blair called her back.

"Jo, can you stay for a while? I'd really like to catch up."

"Maybe some other time," Jo said, panic creeping in as Tootie gave her a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek on her way out the door. "It's kind of late."

"Tomorrow then? I'm in town for another night." Blair's subtle pout toyed with Jo's heart. She needed to get out of here.

"I really don't think I can make it. I've got a lot going on." Not entirely a lie, Jo reasoned, avoiding the brown eyes.

"Please, Jo... I value your friendship. I know I owe you an apology." Blair hesitated, reaching for Jo's hand, then pulled back as the brunette avoided her touch. "Can't we talk it out?"

 _You wanna talk about breaking my heart?_ "We're fine Blair. Can't we just drop this?" Jo could feel the tears welling in her eyes. _Get me out of here!_

"This is most assuredly not fine!" Blair stomped her foot in frustration, sounding every bit the spoiled debutante from years ago.

"Whaddaya want from me?" Jo yelled back, years of pain rushing to the surface, "I'm doin' my level best here, but it's hard enough bein' in this room with you, without bein' alone, without talkin' about shit!" Pushing past the blonde, she swung open the door. "We were kids. We had sex. Get over it!" she shouted, slamming the door behind her.

Collapsing against the door, the evening's unshed tears escaping now that she was alone, Blair slumped to the floor, sobbing into her hands, "But what if I can't? What if I still can't get over it?"


	11. Chapter 11

Jo walked into Dana's club desperate for distraction. She'd tossed and turned through the night, arriving at the station sleepless and grumpy. Mourning her fantasy love was nothing new... chasing away images from decades ago had become second nature. The integration of new memories, however, had been proving harder to handle. This was no longer simply a vain, 23-year-old debutante playing havoc with her unguarded thoughts. This was a woman... strong, capable and wise, yet still playful, still flirtatious, and still sexy as all hell. This new variant was even making the guys at work question where Jo's head was at all day. Exhaling in hopes that it would dispel the memories racking her mind, Jo made her way to the bar.

Dana caught her eye immediately, smiling and raising her brow in silent query as she passed a lowball to one patron while grabbing change for another.

"Coor's Light, Please," Jo said, leaning back to scan the dance floor for blondes.

"Coor's Light," Dana confirmed, sliding two glasses down the bar, "and you'll be wanting this, too."

Jo's eyebrows arched inquisitively as she accepted the beer and the glass of white wine. Hinting at a group of available women was one thing, but actually setting her up... that was another.

Sensing Jo's hesitation, Dana defended her choice. "LaBoutin, and Dolce & Gabbana," she said, pleased when she saw the designers' names register in the Bronx biker's eyes. She'd long suspected that the Casanova's tendency to pick up well-dressed women was calculated. Nodding at the wine glass she added, "Even got me to open a bottle of the 2007 Chardonnay... you won't be disappointed."

Unconvinced, but still curious, Jo strolled in the direction the bartender had indicated, toward the booths at the back. In no time she spotted the blonde perched gracefully on the edge of her seat, legs crossed, red-soled 3" heal dangling from the toes of one foot. Even before she could make out the face, Jo's heart skipped a beat. She clearly owed Dana an apology for doubting her. This woman emanated poise and style... she was perfect! Affecting her best swagger, Jo went closer, preparing to make her move.

Perfect. Jo stopped in her tracks as her over-eager mind switched gears. Only one woman was this particular kind of perfect, she realized with a start. As if hearing her thoughts, the blonde turned her head, looking her straight in the eye.

"Jo?"

"Blair! Whatcha doin' here?"

Glancing pointedly at the two drinks in Jo's hands, Blair gave an amused smile. "Well, it looks like I'm about to pick up." Eyes twinkling, she nodded in invitation at the empty seat across from her.

Jo's instinct was to argue the presumptuous blonde but, still holding the glasses, could come up with no better explanation. Placing the drinks on the table, she slouched into the offered seat feeling suddenly like a teenager called to the principal's office. Her eyes stayed fixed on her beer as her voice stiffened, asking again, "What are you doing here?"

"You weren't home. You said you come here sometimes. I figured I'd take a chance," Blair shrugged. Waiting for Jo to meet her gaze, her tone was firm but gentle when she continued, "Jo, we do need to talk about that night."

Jo was immediately on her feet. Scrambling for an emotion to cover her fear, she grasped wildly at indignation. "So what... You're stalkin' me now?” she growled, then turning, she made for the exit. “I'm outta here!"

"No."

Blair's voice carried no sadness, no fear, no pleading. The word was a cool command, delivered with the expectation that it would be obeyed.

Jo stopped dead, surprising even herself. Turning slowly, she found Blair glaring at her, brown eyes flashing dangerously. Inching forward with fierce determination, she didn't stop until she was uncomfortably close, and then spoke with quiet, forced calm.

"You will talk to me, Jo Polniaczek. Or shout at me. Or even hit me if you must. But you will not run away from me, not ever again."

Seeing the shock in Jo's eyes and her mouth agape, Blair heaved a sigh and took a single step back, out of the brunette's personal space. Maintaining eye contact, she consciously gentled her tone.

"I can't lose you, Jo," she said, her voice familiar again, and gaining emotion, "Not twice. Not without a fight."

Jo took a long moment to sort her thoughts and feelings before responding. The prospect of losing Blair was terrifying, even if she saw it as the only solution. Maybe the blonde had an idea?

"OK," she finally relented, "We'll talk. But not here..."

=-=-=-=-=

Walking the city streets around Dana's, Jo could feel some of her tension working itself out. Walking was a good idea... perhaps she should be walking through more of her heated conversations. Of course, this pace probably wasn't easy in 3" heals, she thought, slowing down a notch as she spared a glance at Blair's feet keeping step with hers. Checking their surroundings, Jo realized they'd almost rounded the block but had yet to say a word.

"So what's to talk about?" Jo began, fists jammed in the pockets of her jeans as she watched the sidewalk pass beneath her feet. "We were kids, we experimented... what now?"

"What if it wasn't just experimenting?"

Blair sounded matter-of-fact, and Jo resented it. Obviously the incident had been an experiment for the boy-crazy debutante. Why did she care what it had represented to Jo?

"Seriously, it's no big deal," Jo declared a tad impatiently. "Sometimes sex is just sex. It's really not a hard concept to grasp."

When Blair didn't respond, Jo lifted her eyes to discover she was no longer at her side. Looking back, she saw the woman stopped under a streetlight a few paces back, arms crossed over her chest, fancy shoes kicking at a candy wrapper.

"What now?" Jo whined, irritated by the drama but walking back anyway. "Ya want me to say it meant something? Fine! It meant something! Ya happy now?"

Blair didn't look up. "Did it Jo? Really?" Her voice was doubtful.

"Why the hell do ya care?" Jo barked in frustration.

Blair's response, uttered to the ground, was inaudible. Something in her tone, however, melted Jo's defenses. Gently cupping the blonde's chin, she brought her face up until their eyes met.

"Whadja say?" Jo asked, her voice and expression infinitely softer.

"It meant something to me," Blair repeated, barely a whisper.

"It did?" Jo was stunned. Had she allowed herself to consider this possibility, even for a moment?

Blair could only nod, but it was enough of a reply to set Jo afire. Gazing into doe eyes, hoping she could still read them like she used to, Jo was terrified to follow her instincts. Self-preservation told her she was in dangerous territory. If she'd not yet recovered from the first blow nearly 30 years ago, how could she possibly risk another now?

But then, sure that she was seeing her own blend of desire, fear and hope mirrored in Blair's eyes, and catching the faintest tremor of that luscious lower lip, Jo decided that some chances were simply worth taking, no matter the risk.

"It meant a lot to me," she breathed, watching for understanding in the brown eyes before tenderly bringing her lips to Blair's. They'd barely touched when the spark hit, impossibly powerful for just a peck, and yet familiar in its overwhelming heat and intensity.

"Jo," the blonde sighed, eyes closing as she raised a trembling hand to caress the brunette's cheek.

They kissed again, this one still gentle but lingering, before Jo pulled back a bit, breathless, her head already swimming. They stood for a moment, foreheads touching and breath intermingling as they held each other's gaze.

Jo wanted Blair, desperately, achingly, but bringing her home from Dana's seemed somehow too easy. This was Blair... she needed to get this right.

When inspiration finally struck, Jo spoke.

"Blair Warner..." she began, humour playing at the corners of her mouth as she checked her posture, taking Blair's hand in her own.

Intrigued by Jo's formal tone, Blair lifted her chin regally as she responded in kind, "Jo Polniaczek?"

"Would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner tomorrow evening?"

"A date?" Blair smiled adorably, twirling a finger through her hair.

"I was jealous of every single date you had," Jo admitted, bashful at the memory.

"Hmm..." Blair reflected back to her most active dating years. "Truth be told, they should have been jealous of you." Then, eyes returning to Jo's, she smiled sincerely, "I'd love to go on a date with you."

Channelling the vibrant energy of the sixteen-year-old who'd dreamt of this moment, Jo's grin was irrepressible. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

"Perfect," Blair replied, unable to withhold a grin of her own.

They stood in the middle of the sidewalk, holding hands and smiling at each other in giddy anticipation like a couple of teenagers. Eventually Blair leaned in to give Jo a peck on the cheek, then moved gracefully toward her waiting limousine, still holding Jo's hand. Only when both their arms were outstretched did she released her grip to blow a kiss, disappearing behind tinted glass.

=-=-=-=-=

Outside Dana's, Jo was still watching the limo weave through traffic as she crouched to unlock the helmet from her bike.

"I guess we'll be seeing less of our Casanova?" Dana's unmistakable voice came from the darkened staff entrance of the club. Stubbing out her cigarette on the concrete wall, she emerged from the shadows.

Turning to face her, Jo gave a non-committal, "Yeah, maybe," aiming to hide her embarrassment.

"No way that was just tonight's blonde," Dana smiled knowingly.

"Nah," admitted Jo, trying but failing to suppress a grin, "that'd definitely be THE blonde."

"How long's it been?"

"Twenty-six years since we were in touch. Eight years rooming together before that," Jo chuckled, "but who's counting?"

Dana let out a low whistle. "Ain't many second chances in life, Jo. I wouldn't let that one get away again."


	12. Chapter 12

Jo checked the time -6:48- on her third trip around the block in the BMW. The car had been the first part of the date she'd arranged and, as it turned out, had helped decide the rest.

The owner had been so impressed with her successful diagnosis and repair of the M-Coupe that he'd offered to pay Sal more than triple his fee. Ever the honest businessman, her uncle had refused the bonus, singing the praises of his niece instead. Undeterred, the customer had left his business card behind with instructions for "the Magic Mechanic" to call if ever she needed anything. Scrawled on the back of the card were the words "I owe you one."

Mr. Zalenski had been delighted to receive her call this morning, even rearranging his schedule to be able to meet her for coffee and hand over his treasured ride in person, proclaiming, "I must meet this magical girl-mechanic with a Polish name!"

Beyond his burly physique and familiar accent, reminiscent of her paternal grandfather, Jo instinctively liked the man. Over coffee and a danish he told of his journey from Poland in 1989, bringing his young family to the states in search of a better life for his children. Now the owner of a growing construction firm with his eldest son preparing to take over the reins, he spoke with pride and gratitude of the opportunities he'd found in this new land. They seemed to share a strong belief in hard work and family, leaving Jo wondering if this was part of her culture. Exiting the coffee shop some 20 minutes later, they were strolling easily up the street when Mr. Zalenski looked at her with a sly smile.

"Must be some date, eh?"

Jo couldn't resist grinning even as she felt her face redden. "Yeah, she's... she's one of a kind."

"Ah. Well, for a one-of-a-kind woman we need a one-of-a-kind car, no?"

Jo's confusion was evident as she glanced at the man. The M-Coupe was a nice a car, but far from one-of-a-kind. Smiling, he pointed up the street where another car came into view.

"No... That's not a Z1?" Jo asked in surprise. She knew that BMW had only made 8,000 based on a popular concept car, and had never sold them in North America. "How did you... ?" her voice trailed off as she crouched, hands respectfully in her pockets, for a closer look at the low slung convertible showing none of its 25 years.

"Imported it myself!" Mr. Zalenski said with evident pride. "Almost a year of paperwork, but she's here!" Reaching into his pocket, he tossed her the keys. "Enjoy!" he grinned.

Meeting Mr. Zalenski had left Jo sentimental about her own Polish roots. Having spent the better part of the morning and the night before looking up fancy restaurants that might impress a millionaire socialite, she'd finally relaxed as she called to make reservations at the little Polish place where a young Charlie Polniaczek had won the heart of Rose Largo. Her parents' relationship may not have stood the test of time, but both parties still agreed that the venue had been perfect.

Checking the time again -6:57- Jo pulled in front of The Plaza. Dropping the top half of the door into the bottom half, the Z1's distinguishing feature, she stepped out of the car. The valet, clearly a car junky as well, eyed the BMW appreciatively as Jo held the keys out to him. Before he could take them, however, her head snapped toward a flash of beauty at the hotel entrance. Seeing his disappointment when she closed her hands around the keys and pocketed them, Jo offered a shrug and a "sorry" over her shoulder as she made her way toward the object of her attention.

Jo's exterior cool, leaning against the cherry red sports-car in her tailored charcoal suit, revealed nothing of the breath still caught in her throat and the heart threatening to leap out of her chest as she watched Blair glide down the stairs toward her. Literally turning heads in the strapless black dress setting off golden hair and accentuating cleavage and curves, Jo had a hard time believing the woman was actually smiling at her, of all people. As she reached the bottom step, she took Jo's offered hand and moved closer, all but purring the familiar, "Hello Jo." In response, Jo took a single long-stemmed orange rose from the car, offering it to Blair as she dropped the passenger's door without breaking eye contact. The charade of perfect cool fell away, however, when Jo first tried to speak.

"Blair... you... uh... wow!" she croaked.

"Why thank you, Jo," Blair smiled as she sniffed the rose while pointedly checking out her date. Eyes twinkling with flirtatious humour she added, "You wow, too!"

"Thanks," Jo chuckled, embarrassed. Leaning in for a kiss, she whispered, "You're early... I was expecting to wait." For years Jo had watched Blair leave every date waiting for half an hour or more, and had made reservations based on this knowledge.

"I think we've waited long enough, don't you?" Blair winked before wrapping her arms around Jo's neck and turning what was meant to be a a chaste peck into something so passionately promising it left the brunette hopelessly aroused.

Holding onto the car to compensate for suddenly weak knees, Jo held Blair's hand as she helped her into the passenger seat. As Jo raised the door back in place, Blair looked the car over, remarking, "I don't think I've seen one of these outside Europe."

"No, you probably haven't," Jo replied, pleased that Blair still noticed fast cars as she made her way around the hood to the driver's seat.

=-=-=-=-=

Winding through city traffic, Jo jumped in her seat at the depth of connection she felt when Blair's hand found its way to hers on the gearshift. Glancing over, she caught the blonde's mischievous smirk and insincere apology. Smiling back as she relaxed into the warm touch, Jo brushed her thumb over the knuckles, enjoying the contact for the rest of the drive.

"You up for a walk?" she asked as they neared the Hudson River Park ahead of schedule.

"Sounds great," Blair smiled, eyeing the purple and orange sky reflecting in the water.

They walked by the river, enjoying the unseasonably warm evening as fallen leaves crunched underfoot. The leaves still in the trees, Jo noted, were the same golden orange as the setting sun that lit them, adding a romantic warm glow to the evening.

"I want to paint this," Blair murmured, moving closer so that her shoulder bumped into Jo's for the third time.

Encouraged by Blair's touch in the car Jo took her hand, hiding a smile when their fingers intertwined without hesitation. "I'd love to see that. Do you still paint?"

"Not in a long time," Blair sighed, then with a sideways glance at Jo and a subtle squeeze of her hand she added, "But I see that changing. I see a lot of things changing."

They stopped for a moment, leaning on the railing by the river to watch the sun sink out of sight, Jo's arm around Blair's waist. In time, Jo found herself instead watching Blair watch the sunset, fascinated by the soft light that played in her hair and in her eyes, improving implausibly on perfection.

"Beautiful," she whispered under her breath just as the last rays disappeared, causing Blair to nod in silent agreement before seeing in Jo's eyes that she wasn't describing the sunset at all. Touched by the sincerity of the tone, Blair held Jo's gaze, losing herself easily in the depths of emerald green. Raising a hand, she ran a fingertip along the edge of the lips that had uttered the word, as though memorizing their shape, then slowly moved her own lips over them.

Struck by the concentrated intent behind Blair's kiss, Jo was overwhelmed by the surreal nature of the moment. This was like sitting in awe of a spectacular painting, and then having it suddenly come to life only to express an avid interest in the viewer. Pulling Blair closer and deepening the kiss in an effort to convey these emotions, she realized that even this description fell short. Blair's greatest beauty actually lay hidden in her heart, a quality no painting could ever hope to reproduce. Moved immeasurably by the opportunity presented her tonight and swearing to prove herself worthy, she finally allowed conscious thought to drift away as she gave in to the moment, to the incredible woman in her arms.

Blair must have sensed the shift, letting out a whimper that dropped into a moan and suddenly digging her nails into the back of Jo's neck, drawing an echoing moan from the other woman. When the need for air momentarily exceeded their desire they separated only their lips, neither willing to forego the closeness they'd found. Each tried to speak, but finding words insufficient chose instead to gaze into each other's eyes, hoping to find more ardent communication there.

When they continued their walk, holding hands, it was in lamplit twilight. As their conversation grew lighter, their mood became playful, laughing as they kicked leaves at each other. Blair was retelling a tale when she noticed her usually attentive date looking over her shoulder toward the pier. Turning to follow her gaze, she remarked, "Looks like a band's setting up."

"Yeah," Jo replied, still squinting at the band members. "You wanna check it out on the way back?"

"Sounds perfect!" Blair nodded, pulling Jo by the hand to plant a kiss on her cheek.

=-=-=-=-=

"Prokowski's..." Blair read the sign outside the restaurant. "Polish?"

Jo nodded.

"Any relation?"

"Distant cousins, I think," Jo replied, opening the door and guiding Blair through with her hand at the small of her back. "But I've been coming here all my life."

They were seated at a cozy table by the fireplace adorned with a small vase of cut flowers. After taking their drink order, the handsome young waiter with a Polish accent lit the candle on the table before leaving the couple to review the menu.

"Pierogies!" Blair exclaimed, beaming.

"Best ones west of Gdansk," Jo confirmed, relaxing into her chair with the reassurance that she'd chosen well.

Dinner conversation was warm and comfortable in the way it can only be with old friends, but with the captivating addition of flirtatious glances and gestures. Watching Blair enjoy her pierogies, Jo realized with a smile that her appreciation of food in comfortable company brought forth moans and facial expressions reminiscent of other carnal delights. Recalling their clandestine midnight ventures into Mrs. Garrett's kitchen years ago, she blushed at the sudden understanding of why she partook even when she wasn't hungry.

Noticing Jo's distracted gaze, Blair grinned and took advantage, reaching her fork across the table to steal the last pierogy from her companion's plate. Jo feigned annoyance, fending her off with her own knife and fork, but acquiesced and laughed easily when Blair offered it back, secretly enjoying the intimacy of sharing.

Some time later, still enjoying the ambiance, they held hands across the table, watching each other by flickering candle-light, not noticing or caring that verbal communication had died off quite a while ago. When Blair stood to use the powder room, Jo stood formally to watch her go,waiting until she was out of sight and earshot before pulling out her phone and rapidly scrolling through her contacts. With the phone to her ear she glanced nervously after her date.

"Hey Marty... is that your band setting up on Pier 45? Yeah? How long will you guys be out there?" She looked again toward the washrooms as she listened to his reply.

"Perfect. Listen man, I need a big favour. You ever hear of a fantastic era they call 'The '80s'?"

By the time Blair returned looking subtly more beautiful... _How does she do that?_ Jo wondered... the bill had been paid with a hearty tip. Offering her arm, Jo nodded toward the exit. "You ready?"


	13. Chapter 13

Blair's slight shiver once surrounded by the cool night air had Jo removing her suit jacket and draping it over her bare shoulders. Suddenly enveloped not only by the warmth but also the subtle scent of Jo, Blair snuggled closer to offer a grateful kiss on the cheek. Feeling herself blush at the combined effect of the kiss and seeing the beauty so comfortable in her jacket, Jo moved her arm to Blair's shoulders. With a satisfied sigh, she took pleasure in the feeling of the warm body pressed alongside hers as they walked back through the park toward the bass beat now audible in the distance.

As they moved closer to its source, the rhythmic beat gained midrange and finally treble layers, until the distinctly Indie sound of the band took form. A crowd had gathered since they last passed by, moving in unison to the beat, with the loudest and most raucous fans gathered tight around the stage. When Jo found a spot with a good view under an ancient maple tree and leaned against its trunk, Blair caught her checking the time.

"Somewhere you'd rather be?" she teased, moving in front of Jo to lean back against her.

Unable to formulate a witty reply with the woman of her dreams suddenly pressed so comfortably against her, Jo opted instead for mutual distraction, wrapping her arms around the slender waist and nuzzling the exposed neck appreciatively. It must have worked, since Blair's hand rose to stroke her hair, with no further mention of her faux-pas.

The audience applauded and shrieked enthusiastically as the song ended and another began, reminding a breathless Jo that she was in a public park rather than her fantasy bedroom. Moving her face reluctantly away from the softness and scent of Blair, she looked toward the stage with unfocussed eyes, resting her chin on the woman's shoulder.

"They're not bad," Blair announced, swaying against Jo to the beat of the new song.

"Pretty good, actually," Jo agreed in her ear, trying hard to pay attention to the music in spite of Blair's physical proximity. Halfway through the song, however, she found she could no longer resist the neck so close to her face. Running her lips gently from an earlobe downward, barely touching, she thought she heard a sharp intake of breath from her ever-poised subject. Her suspicions were confirmed when, with a turn of her head, Blair brought their lips together. Jo's arms tightened automatically as Blair's hands travelled along their length, enjoying the sensual security they provided. Their kisses continued, slow and heartfelt, with Jo becoming easily immersed in the sensations they created, rapidly losing track of all else.

It was Blair who broke their developing rhythm, exclaiming suddenly, "REO Speedwagon!"

"Huh?" Jo grunted stupidly.

"This song! Who'd ever think they'd cover REO Speedwagon?"

Slowly becoming more alert, Jo recognized the first strains of the song with a grin, turning her attentions back to the stage as the bass player leaned into the mic.

"We don't do '80s covers," Marty proclaimed, "so Blair, you must be somethin' special. 'Cause Jo owes us big-time for this..."

"Oh my God, Jo," Blair breathed, clearly surprised, standing with her hand to her chest and eyeing Jo with enough adoration to melt the toughest heart.

Watching gold dance in the deep brown eyes, Jo had to clear her throat to speak. "This has been your song since the day it came out," she said, hoping her sincerity was apparent. "I figured it's about time you knew that."

The lead singer started to sing:

_"I can't fight this feelin' any longer_  
_And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow._  
_What started out as friendship has grown stronger_  
_I only wish I had the strength to let it show..."_

Watching the band, hearing the words, holding tight to the woman in her arms... Jo was in heaven. It had been a very different world when she'd discovered she was in love with her unlikely best friend. Their differences had seemed insurmountable back then: two girls from two opposing worlds at a time when just being girls was enough to make romance seem impossible. How incredible that she could now hold Blair like this in a public place without fear of ridicule, let alone physical harm! She loved New York's diversity and wondered, not for the first time, how her world would change if being with Blair meant leaving her beloved hometown.

Turning her head, she kissed the blonde mane tenderly, inhaling the scent that had become so intoxicating to her. Soon they were kissing again, Blair's hand caressing Jo's cheek as the chorus echoed:

_"And I can't fight this feelin' anymore..._  
_I've forgotten what I started fightin' for._  
_And if I have to crawl upon the floor,_  
_Come crashing through your door,_  
_Baby, I can't fight this feelin' anymore."_

When the song ended, it drew more applause than either woman would have expected from the young Indie crowd. As the band moved on to something more their style, Blair turned in Jo's arms to face her, throwing her arms around her neck to pull her closer.

"I feel like a teenager again!" she beamed, "This is the best date ever!"

"Yeah?" Jo asked, dropping her voice to a more masculine register. "So you're comin' up to my place for a..." she raised a brow suggestively, "a drink?"

Twirling a finger in her hair, eyes large and innocent, Blair recited her teen dating mantra. "Oh no... I'm not that kind of girl."

"Well... What kind of girl are you then?" Jo teased.

Blair paused for thought before moving closer to shift a stray hair out of Jo's eyes. "The kind who's secretly in love with her roommate, actually," she sighed, wishing she could have been so honest years ago.

Her pulse suddenly pounding in her throat, Jo found it exceedingly difficult to continue the game. When she found her breath, she tried for a confused look. "Your roommate... the actress? The writer?" she asked.

"No, no," Blair replied, then clarified with a wicked grin, "the barbarian."

"The Princess and the Barbarian?" Jo pronounced, shaking her head doubtfully, but unable to keep the humour out of her eyes. "It seems a bit cliche, doncha think?"

"Are you kidding me?" Blair asked in mock surprise. "They're made for each other!" She smiled broadly, eyes flashing. "It'll be epic. Just you wait and see."

With that she turned toward the car, grabbing Jo's hand to pull her along for a few paces before the brunette caught up, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. Blair immediately nestled closer for the moonlit walk, her apparent delight unshakeable.

=-=-=-=-=

Entering the open space of the loft, Blair took in the hardwood floors, bare brick walls, sizable windows and somewhat utilitarian furnishings.

"Nice!" she said, then caught Jo's eyebrows rising in disbelief. "No, really," she insisted, "I like the space... although it could use a woman's touch," she winked.

Jo chuckled, shaking her head as she pulled a bottle of chardonnay and a lager from the fridge. Gesturing expansively around the room, she said, "Make yourself at home."

Blair accepted the invitation, stopping to check the view of the neighbourhood as she made her way through the seating area toward the workout corner. Running a hand along the well-used heavy bag, she couldn't resist eyeing Jo's unsuspecting form with an appreciative smile. Jo just missed the lusty look as she dropped her iPhone in its cradle and selected a mellow playlist before handing Blair a glass and moving with her to the leather couch.

They sat facing each other, Blair's legs tucked underneath her as she curled into one corner of the couch while Jo's ankle crossed over her knee at the other. As their conversation continued comfortably, Jo found she missed the physical contact they'd managed to maintain throughout the evening, finally placing a tentative hand on Blair's knee as she casually sipped her beer. Blair continued speaking without pause, landing her hand on top of Jo's, and leaving it there.

The song hadn't even registered for Jo when Blair interrupted herself.

"Oh, wow..." she said with a smile, rising to her feet and draining the last of her wine before placing the glass back on the coffee table. She backed toward the centre of the room with an arm outstretched to Jo, eyes warm in invitation. "Dance with me?" she appealed, but started without her, her voluptuous body moving seductively in time with Alicia Keys' hauntingly drawn out "In New York."

"Uh... not much of a dancer," Jo fumbled, feeling hopelessly awkward in comparison to the stunning blonde moving as though the music originated in her hips. Jo had learned some ballroom dance years ago, but that was scripted and choreographed. This was entirely different.

"Suit yourself," Blair smiled serenely, then adding as if in explanation, "God I love this town." Eyes closing, she continued to move with the music, drawing her hands up over her head as she swayed slowly, sensuously immersing herself in the beat, lyrics and tune.

_"... These streets will make you feel brand new  
These lights will inspire you..."_

Jo watched in awe. Who was this woman? This was no longer the Blair who used her beauty to impress, who turned her good side and preened. As Jay Z rapped a contrasting view of New York, it was clear that this woman was utterly lost in the music, in the moment, celebrating her love of the song with her entire being. If she remembered at all that she had an audience, it clearly didn't matter.

And yet the dance was so raw, Jo realized, so transparently sexual that just watching felt as intimate as making love. Trusting that energy Jo stood, drawn in willingly like a moth to a flame.

Blair's eyes opened when she sensed Jo's silent approach, brown eyes finding green as if by instinct. Her slow smile lit up the room as she wrapped her arms around Jo's neck, appreciating their height difference now that they were both barefoot. Inhaling deeply, she pulled the woman closer, never breaking eye contact. Their bodies fit together perfectly, Jo's hands on swaying hips, and they moved as one intensely erotic being, lost in each other's eyes.

As the song drew to a close, Blair moved closer still, nuzzling Jo's ear seductively before whispering, "Looks like I'm moving back to New York."

"Lucky us," Jo intoned breathlessly, startled by Blair's sudden revelation, but trusting her determined tone and delighting in it, "'cause New York's sure been missing you."

Moving to celebrate the declaration with a kiss, Jo's lips were met with deluge of passion she'd not anticipated. Kissing for the first time in private, it became suddenly clear that every glance, every smile, every touch they'd shared over the past weeks had been so much impossibly restrained foreplay. Blair's hands were in her hair, adding force to their kiss as her body pressed against her. Jo's own hands, already reaching to unzip the dress, were frustratingly clumsy with desire. Finally pulling her lips away in order to see the offending zipper, she couldn't resist nibbling at a bare shoulder. When this was met with a welcoming moan and fingernails moving to her neck, Jo surprised herself by biting down as the zipper gave way.

"Mmm... Jo... I've so missed your touch..."

The unmistakable need in the tone as much as the words set Jo ablaze. "Oh God... Blair..." she gasped, feeling the dress fall away, allowing her access to the smooth back. Realizing that Blair's hands were proving just as awkward as her own with the buttons of her shirt, Jo moved away grudgingly to work on the buttons together. As she caught sight of Blair, now in pink silk lingerie, she was dumbfounded. Dressed, Blair was gorgeous, stunning, beautiful... not only to Jo, but to all who saw her. Like this... there were simply no words. Growling expletives in frustration, her patience exhausted, Jo sent buttons flying as she ripped the shirt open.

"Better," was moaned into her neck as Blair moved against her again, sending Jo's pulse racing at the skin to skin contact. When Jo wrapped her arms around her and lifted, Blair wrapped her legs around Jo's waist, continuing to suck on her neck. Thanks to the unbelievable feeling of Blair's damp heat against her abdomen, Jo only made it to the bed by shear force of will. She paused for a moment, awed by the sight of the nearly nude goddess in her bed before dropping upon her, to kiss and nibble a slow trail up from her abdomen.

As Blair writhed beneath her, responding to her touch in a way that no other woman had, Jo watched and listened, intent on finding every secret this glorious body had to tell. Arriving at breasts barely covered by lace, she drew her teeth over the material, seeking and finding a sensitive nipple. Teasing with teeth and tongue, she could sense Blair’s mounting pleasure and frustration in her movements and moans until, finally, she heard the exasperated cry, “God, Jo, just take it off!”

Grinning, Jo looked up, noting the flush in Blair’s cheeks and wondering how this look could possibly make her even more beautiful. Dropping a parting kiss on the waiting nipple, she shook her head “no” as she made her way up to those exquisite lips, unable to resist the urge to claim them again.

They kissed heatedly, bodies grinding together until Jo’s hand found its way back to an eager breast, slowly moving the material aside for better access as Blair’s fingernails trailed down her back. Expecting another sound of pleasure, Jo’s passion-hindered brain couldn’t quite process what Blair actually said.

"Huh?" she grunted.

"Do you need to get that?"

A shrill ringing echoed in the room, amplified by the speakers.

"No... Yes... No... Shit!" Jo rose halfway, looking toward the noise as if betrayed. "It's work. Shit!" Looking back at Blair, her tone gentled, "Babe, I'm really sorry." Her eyes said that and more as she walked backward to answer the phone, heartbroken.

Blair sat up in bed, drawing a sheet around herself. Watching Jo answer the phone with an angry "What!", she hoped against hope that their night might be salvaged. The tension that built instantly in Jo's shoulders, coupled with the hand that ran through her hair was all Blair needed to see. Crestfallen, she stood and began to retrieve her discarded clothes.

=-=-=-=-=

On the way back to The Plaza Jo, now in jeans and a t-shirt, was able to explain that kids who had already lost a sibling to murder and a parent to prison had now inexplicably seen their remaining parent get killed. They remembered her... were asking for her. What could she do?

Blair was saying the right things, "It's OK Jo, I understand," but there was an underlying sadness... almost defeat... that was disconcerting. It left Jo wanting to explain again, but Blair's words kept insisting there was no need. She didn't know what to say, and she didn't have time to figure it out. She needed to get to work.

They kissed briefly, chastely, before Blair got out of the car. The sadness visible in Blair's eyes made Jo feel the sting of tears in her own. Running a hand through her hair in frustration, she was just about to pull away when Blair spoke quietly, honestly.

"This is what it would be like, right? You run off to save the world, and I wonder if you'll make it home alive?"

"I've made it back alive every time for over 20 years," Jo countered, but her character was too pragmatic to pull off the required optimism.

"But you might not." It wasn't a question.

"I guess... well... maybe not," for the first time in a long time, Jo hated her job.

"I have an early flight," Blair sighed. That tone was definitely defeat. "Text me... let me know you made it home."

"OK," Jo replied, pulling away before the tears could flow. And really, what more was there to say?


	14. Chapter 14

"You guys finally went on a date?" Natalie's enthusiasm was evident. "So... was it awesome?"

"Yes, it was awesome," Blair's smile was audible through the phone line. Despite her current apprehension, there was no denying that her date with Jo had been wonderful... right up until the last 20 minutes.

"That is so great!" came the giddy reply. "And? What's next?"

"Well... I'm not really sure."

"OK, I'm sensing a definite lack of post-awesome-date enthusiasm here. What gives?"

"It's just..." Blair hesitated. Was there a way to explain her turmoil? "She's a cop."

"Right. Which you've known for decades. Why is this news?"

Sighing at the effort, the blonde tried to give voice to her confusion. "I knew... of course I knew... but I didn't know, you know?"

"Strangely yes, I think I do," Nat shook her head. Sometimes Blair's confusion seemed to love company. "You never really gave any thought to the reality of dating a homicide detective, did you?"

"No, not really. I know it's silly, but I was driven by this incredible need to be with Jo. Her career just seemed irrelevant in comparison until..." she paused for thought, "well, until reality set in. I mean the woman has actually made a life out of running to the rescue, regardless of danger."

"You've loved her a long time, haven't you?" Nat tried for a gentle shift in topic.

Blair was quick to deny. "Who said anything about love?"

"Oh, sorry. Blair Warner just dropped everything in pursuit of a childhood... what... crush?" her tone was characteristically sarcastic. "Yeah, I'll buy that."

Laughing at herself as much as Nat's remark, Blair gave the matter thought. Yes, she loved Jo. Of course she did. Why was that so hard to admit? Was it simply not knowing whether Jo felt it too? "So you've got me. I guess it's been a while." She paused before asking tentatively, "Nat, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"When you checked out her ass?" Nat was laughing now. "No Blair, that would have been lust."

Blair was mortified. "I did no such thing!"

"Sure you did, and then you covered with that ridiculous criticism of her flared jeans," the reporter wasn't backing down.

"As I recall, it was you checking her out."

"Damn right I was, and then she took off the helmet and I realized she wasn't a he. Hey, at least I'm not ashamed to admit it... Jo had a great ass!"

"Still does," Blair giggled despite herself. Thinking back to those early days, she smiled, "Would you buy love in the first 24 hours?"

"Usually no, but we all had a rather eventful first day with Jo. Tell me!"

"Do you remember that girl who tried to take my watch?"

"In the holding cell? Man, she was tough as nails!" Nat winced at the memory.

"She was. Twice Jo's size, and at least five years older." Blair remembered her own fears, being so far out of her comfort zone but trying desperately to appear unaffected. "And yet Jo actually stepped between us and made the woman back off."

"Twice!" Nat added.

"Yes, twice. Even though she hardly knew me. Even though I'd been a royal bitch to her all day. Even though the second time was entirely my fault... Jo was there, so strong and fearless." Blair spoke with clear admiration. "I'd never seen chivalry like that before, not in any boy I'd dated. That was when..." her voice trailed off.

"Yeah... There's no denying the appeal of a person who'll run to the rescue, regardless of danger." 

This was the skill that had made her career... turning her interviews full circle and throwing her subjects' words back at them. She couldn't keep her enjoyment of this moment out of her tone.

The responding laugh was dry. "Nice one, Nat." Then after a pause, Blair added, "You know, I've heard it said that the first thing we fall for in a person will be the very thing that drives us mad in the long run."

"Wise words."

"Thanks Nat. I think I've got it from here."

"Anytime. Really." Natalie's voice took on a rare sentimentality. "Blair, you know I don't subscribe to longterm monogamy, but if ever I've met a couple who might pull it off it'd be you and Jo. There's just something about you two."

=-=-=-=-=

"Home. Exhausted... going to bed. We should talk. In 5hrs?"

Blair had waited 16 hours for the text to arrive, and when it finally did her relief was tinged with uncertainty. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard Jo say "we should talk," and it had never been a good sign. Usually it meant she was preparing to deliver a lecture, with a leaning toward finality. Swallowing the terror mounting in her chest, she texted her reply:

"I'll call in 5 hours. Sweet dreams."

Then she went about trying to decide how to best occupy her mind for five more hours.

=-=-=-=-=

"So... now what?"

Blair already sounded defensive, and they hadn't even started. It made Jo all-the-more nervous, but she had promised herself they would have this conversation.

"So now we talk it out."

"I'm sorry, I was looking for Jo Polniaczek," Blair deadpanned.

"Very funny," Jo replied, although her tone said she found the remark anything but.

"Come on, you have to admit it's out of character. Since when do you want to talk things out?"

"Since you said I couldn't run away from you again." Jo sounded distinctly uncomfortable with the admission.

Blair's defenses melted. How could she underestimate how seriously Jo would take an ultimatum, even one she'd hurled at her in a bar? "Thank you, Jo. That means a lot. I'm sorry I was testy."

"You also said I could yell at you."

Unable to hold back a smile at the belligerent tone, Blair braced herself. "Ah yes. Would you like to yell at me now?"

"Seriously Blair, you're mad at me for being a cop! Like you couldn't have thought about that before? You're the one who's been chasin' this down... I would've let it go. Why the hell would you push this -whatever ‘this’ is- if you're not OK with my career? Did you think I would just quit to be with you? This isn't some stupid romance novel, it's my freakin' life! God Blair, you can be so..."

Blair interrupted the rant. "You're right, Jo. I'm sorry."

There was a pause as Jo considered the apology. "I’m right?" she chuckled, “Hello... Blair?”

"Sounds like we’ve both grown up a little over the years," Blair mused. "I hadn't given a lot of thought to your career, Jo, and the reality of it took me by surprise. I honestly don't know how I'll deal with the danger, but tossing out something this good simply because I'm afraid of losing it is... well... counterproductive at best."

"I know it's not easy, Babe. I don't think I could hack it if I was worried about you gettin' shot every day," Jo's voice turned pensive as she considered solutions. "I could ask some of the guys how their wives deal..."

"That sounds like a good place to start."

"I swear I'm not stupid out there. I always wear my vest, I do things by the book... I'm careful, Blair."

"I'm glad," Blair sighed, relieved to have found some peace, however temporary. "Hey, Jo?"

"Yeah, Babe?"

"I wish we could have finished our date," Blair's tone was so warm it sizzled. "I really had a wonderful time with you."

Remembering precisely where their date had been headed and wondering whether her voice changed when she blushed, Jo breathed her reply. "Yeah, me too."


	15. Chapter 15

“You keep laughing like that and you'll never get the scoop on us again.”

“Sorry Jo,” but Natalie hadn't sounded sorry; not with the barely suppressed grin and the snicker at the end. “It's just... ugh... how do I put this delicately?” Patting Jo's hand across the table as she'd composed herself over another sip of coffee, she'd tried again “OK. You're worried that you've slipped into friend-land because you and Blair are acting just like you used to in school, right?”

“Right. I mean, it's been a month, and I'd like to think the spark's there, but how the hell can I know from 1,500 miles away? I'm really not looking to be just friends again.”

“But that's the thing, Jo. You and Blair were never just friends.”

Stupefied, Jo had stared at Nat. “I told you, we never did anything. Not through Eastland, and...”

“And I told you, you were never in this “Friend-land” you so fear. You and I... Blair and I? Friends, totally. You and Blair? Oy! You two had more chemistry glaring at each other across the room than Tootie and I had sharing a Slurpee on the couch!”

Cocking her head to look at her friend, Jo had felt her usual confidence returning. “Ya think?”

“Oh yeah. Anyone with a half-wit's understanding of body language could see it. Frankly, I have no idea how you two held off for thirty-some years.”

If Jo had caught the doubtful tone in the final statement, and the gaze that had lingered searching for a reaction, she'd given no sign of it. She'd smoothly changed the topic, and Nat had let her.

=-=-=-=-=

As it happened, a little patience would have saved Jo from that conversation. It had been only a few days later, when the phone rang, yanking Jo out of a dream she'd been truly reluctant to leave. Peering at the gorgeous blonde on her call display, she'd smiled back instinctively, her voice breathless as the image melded with those lingering in her mind.

“Hey Baby...”

“Wow! If this detective thing doesn't work out, you may have a future on 900 lines.”

The laugh that followed had retained the sultry edge. “I was just dreaming of you.”

“Were you?” Blair's tone had dropped to match. “Do tell!”

“Er...” Caught in a trap of her own making, Jo had been suddenly awake and feeling out of her depth. Blair couldn't possibly realize what she was asking for, could she? “Blair, it was... er... one of those dreams,” she had explained, feeling the heat rise in her face as she emphasized the innuendo in 'those'. 

Jo really had thought Blair would sense her embarrassment and back off, but she was in for a surprise.

“Jo, Jo, Jo,” had been delivered in the familiar, patronizing sing-song before the tone changed, becoming deeply sensual. “Do I sound like I expect to hear about a grocery shopping dream?”

Er, no. No, she hadn't.

=-=-=-=-=

It had been unexpected... all of it. Beginning with Blair’s descriptions of what she wanted to do, delivered softly but with a confidence that had Jo’s body responding as though each caress were real, Blair had moved on to revealing what she herself was doing, sending vivid imagery spiralling through Jo’s mind. How could she not respond in kind? As her own hands had become Blair’s, she’d found herself arching wantonly into that touch. Soon sentences had devolved into phrases, then single words carried on moans and gasps, and Jo had found that simply closing her eyes brought Blair right into the room with her... her scent, her touch...

“Shit, look at you!” Marty's voice startled her out of her reverie, sending a rush of heat to her face as she was brought back to her desk and the seemingly endless mound of paperwork before her. “Is she that good?” he teased, eyeing her intently as a conspiratorial grin spread across his features.

Jo was a private person. She’d never spoken of her conquests with the guys, and Blair was another matter entirely- completely off limits. Even so Marty, having squinted into the stage lights at the pier a month ago to see what kind of woman turned his mentor's head, had the inside track. This, coupled with her embarrassment had her bristling. “Back off Marty!” she snarled, returning her focus to her work.

“Gotta say, Jo, that Blair is one hot MILF!” 

“What?” Jo looked up in disbelief. Judging from the way the rest of the guys moved away from him, Marty must have been deaf to miss her tone.

“I'm just sayin' she's hot. She's gotta be twice my age, but I'd do her in a heartbeat!” He even included a crude gesture, as if she might miss his meaning otherwise.

The chair almost toppled as Jo rose to her feet, cocking her head as she strode purposefully toward the young man, her presence suddenly overwhelming his physical size. “You know that favour I owe ya?” she asked.

“Yeah?” the poor boy's grin was eager, until he took note of Jo’s scowl. Suddenly he was backing away from his superior, stopping only when his desk impeded his escape. Moving closer and holding his gaze, she stabbed her finger into his chest to punctuate her words. “You can consider it paid in full,” she declared with terrifying sternness, “on account of your internal organs still bein' internal.”

Her threat delivered, she held her position, maintaining eye contact until Marty dropped his head in surrender. When she turned to walk away, shaking her head in disbelief, she could hear the guys move in to tease the rookie for his misstep. “He'll learn,” she thought, smiling to herself as she made her way through the building.

=-=-=-=-=

“So tell me about the Renaissance.”

Jo's blood ran cold. Trying for innocence she began, “What, you mean da Vinci and Michaelangelo? That's more your kinda thing.”

“No, Dear. Try again.” Endearment aside, Blair's voice was stern. Jo could picture the sideways look and raised brow that went with it.

“Oh, wait... that's that youth centre you were talking about, right?”

“One and the same. I was looking through my records... I'm doing a lot of that with the divorce... and I realized they contacted me at my personal email. Now, I wonder how they got that?”

Oh shit. “Er... dunno. Maybe you gave it out somewhere.”

“No, I don't think so. A Warner learns quickly that one does not maintain much privacy by letting one's personal contact information slip.”

“Right... I imagine a Warner does,” Jo sighed. Clearly Blair knew. Still, Jo wasn't ready to give in.

“And?” Blair's tone was only a little peevish... mostly amused. 

“What?”

“Honey,” she prodded, “I work on their files. You're listed as one of their NYPD contacts.”

“Right.” Think, come up with something! “Well, I worked on this case a few years back...”

“Jo...” Blair was having none of it.

Jo heaved a sigh in response, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back on the couch, ready to accept her fate. “What?” It came out disgruntled, not really a question at all.

“You gave them my email, didn't you? Why did you do that? And why didn't you tell me?”

“We weren't exactly on speakin’ terms at the time, I wasn't tellin' you anything at all! What was I supposed to say? 'Hey Blair, it's none of my business, but you seem to be rotting away and maybe this'll wake you up.'?”

Blair chuckled softly, and Jo could feel the warmth through the phone line. “Actually, that might have been the perfect thing to say.”

“You're not mad?” Jo’s voice rose in surprise.

There was a pause, long enough to make Jo wonder whether she'd read her wrong, before Blair replied.

“I can't believe it,” the voice was tight with emotion. “Even across the years, the miles, without actually saying a word to me... you were still coming to my rescue.”

“Nah Baby, it's not like that at all.” Jo's sincerity and determination were audible. “The most I did was maybe toss out a lifeline. From what I hear, you did all the rescuing yourself.”

For Blair, a woman who wielded words like Samurai swords, being left speechless was a rare thing... but the strangled “Thanks, Jo,” she managed to squeeze out didn't even begin to capture everything she suddenly needed to say.


	16. Chapter 16

It was probably because it had become routine, their dinnertime phone call, that Jo didn't notice her tone. She was tossing a piece of spaghetti against the wall -the test passed down through generations- a jar of her mom's homemade spaghetti sauce in her other hand, with the iPhone on the counter beside her and Blair on speaker.

“Jo, would you still... want me if I were poor?”

Jo's sarcasm was automatic as she poured the reheated sauce on the plate. “Don't be silly, Babe... Workin' stiff from the Bronx? You know I'm in it for the money!”

But she did notice the silence that followed. Moving the plate aside and wiping her hands on a dishtowel, concern crossing her face, she picked up the phone and held it to her ear, walking away from the kitchen and its distractions. “Babe? You know I'm kiddin', right?”

“Of course, Jo,” but Blair's tone was weak. “Yes, I know you're kidding.” She was convincing herself now. “It's just...” she sighed, not knowing where to begin. She'd been consciously trying to keep the tiresome dealings with Richard and his lawyers out of her conversations with Jo.

“I'm guessin' the divorce is gettin' messy?” Jo prodded.

“Oh, Jo... messy doesn't even begin to cover it.” 

The defeat and sorrow in Blair's voice tugged at Jo's heart. She wanted to be there, to wrap herself around the woman, to physically convince her they were in this together. Leaning back into the couch, she realized yet again that she hated this long distance thing. She was convinced that even her earlier callous remark, typical as it might be for their relationship, would not have been delivered had she been able to see Blair and her pain.

“You had a pre-nup, didn't you?” Jo tried to inject optimism. “I'm sure you'll find the loophole you need.”

Blair gave a humourless laugh. “I'm finding loopholes alright, but not ones that will help me. Daddy had the pre-nup drawn up... I just signed it,” her voice was tinged with embarrassment. “It protects Richard's interests, and Daddy's even, but not mine... not if I initiated a divorce. My God, Jo... I was a law student, and I didn't read my own pre-nup. I was such a fool!”

“You trusted your father. I don't think that makes you a fool.”

“Really, Jo?” Blair's tone was incredulous, clearly committed to kicking herself. “You don't think it was obvious that I was,” she paused, searching for the exact words, “ 'just a trophy to sweeten Daddy's latest business deal'? That maybe I had reason to mistrust him?”

Wincing at hearing her own words come back with such venom, Jo sat upright, her posture echoing her earnest tone. “Babe, that's not fair. I didn't trust any rich people back then. But he's your freakin' Dad. He shouldda been lookin' out for you. Who wouldda thought he wouldn't be?”

Blair heaved a sigh, and Jo could picture the hand that went up to massage her brow as she prepared to back out of the argument. “Well, I'll have my lawyers take another look through, but as best I can tell I'll be walking away with my clothes, my car and my art.”

“I'm sorry Babe.” And she was. As much as the money didn't matter to Jo, she knew it was the backbone of the only world Blair had ever really known.

=-=-=-=-=

“eBay!”

It had been well over a month since Blair had realized how much the divorce would be costing her financially. That had been followed by long days of poring over documents, dealing with lawyers -both her own and Richard's-, and packing her things, even as she searched for an apartment and work in New York City. She'd been exhausted both emotionally and physically, and had sounded it. When the gleeful exclamation echoed on her phone, Jo couldn't help but grin in return as she wondered how long it had been since she'd last heard Blair smile.

“Yeah... also known as flea-bay.” Jo chuckled, realizing just how much she'd missed that exuberance. “You find a cheaper way of shopping, Babe?”

“Even better! I'm un-shopping!” Emphasizing her created word, her joy was infectious. “Would you believe there are people who buy used clothes?”

“Um... I'd be one of those people.”

“Right... I suppose you would.” Blair sounded contemplative, as tough she'd never before considered the possibility. “People will buy designer clothes, even if they're used.”

“Yeah, they will.”

“They pay well for them, too. Especially if they've only been worn to one function!” Her tone changed from joy to surprise as she went on. “I have a lot of clothes.”  
Jo laughed, “That'd be why I always ended up givin' ya half my closet space.”

“Oh no... that was nothing. I have a LOT of clothes... and shoes! This will pay for my move, you know.”

“You... er...” Jo tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice. “You find a place yet?”

“No, but I'm looking. I don't think I'll be in Manhattan.” Her disappointment was audible. “If I'm selling the Porsche, I need it to cover more than a few months' rent.”

Wow... Blair had had a Porsche as long as Jo had known her, upgrading regularly to a newer model like some people did with cell phones. “You're selling the Porsche?” 

“Actually, you are,” then, as it occurred to her that perhaps Jo might want a say in the matter, “You will, won't you?”

“Yeah, sure...” but Jo sounded distant.

“Is that OK?”

“Yeah, yeah... I was just thinkin'. If you're still looking for a place...”

“I am. I told you I'm moving up.” Blair was confused. It was unlike Jo to not know when she was serious about something.

“Well, I know a place. It's in Jersey, though. Kinda small.”

Blair sighed, glancing around the boxes cluttering the expanse of her 12,000 square foot home. Gritting her teeth to the realities of her situation, she promised herself it would only be temporary. “Sounds like it might be in my budget.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure it is. But, er... I hear the place could use a woman's touch.”

Blair smiled as she understood. “Would I have to share this small space with a... roommate?”

“Right, yeah, I almost forgot. Not sure you'll get along with her, though... she's a real barbarian.”

Touched by the offer, Blair chuckled softly. “Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. I have a way with barbarians.” Her voice turned more serious as she continued. “I appreciate the offer, Jo, but are you sure? It really is a small space.”

“Hey, I owe you. You let me share your room at Langley, remember? And that was way smaller.” 

Blair could hear Jo's grin over the phone. Smiling back, she replied. “I don't recall letting you. In fact, I remember constantly tripping over you and trying rather desperately to get you to leave.”

“Nah, you're remembering it all wrong. You didn't mind at all.”

Blair could only laugh. “Of course, you're right, Darling. I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Enjoying the sound of “darling” replaying in her head, Jo tried to sound cool. “So... you figure you're moving in?” 

Blair tried to sound composed. “Yes. It seems I am.”


End file.
